Reckoning
by jaibhagwan
Summary: A slow burn Caryl fic. The story of their friendship. Daryl and Carol discover themselves through relating to each other in a post-apocalyptic world.
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Walking Dead or any of the characters. I'm also not a professional writer. Your feedback is my only payment.

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

They knew what was happening, but they never spoke about it. Lingering a few minutes here, stealing furtive glances there; neither of them had any desire to move quickly by making overt gestures. Over time, Daryl and Carol realized that they simply preferred each other's quiet company. It was easy. It worked for them. They just fell into the rhythm of routine, even while their lives were in chaos. Daily demands on their time kept them busy, which was good, as too much idle time allowed one to think too much. Too much thinking meant too much worrying. And with the crowding patterns of the walkers becoming more concentrated and supplies becoming more scarce, no one could afford to worry. It was do or die.

With each other, Daryl and Carol both felt accepted and appreciated for who they were without pretense or demands that they be otherwise. They often sought each other out at the end of the day just to check in with each other to see how the other was doing. It was a simple thing really, but neither of them took it for granted. They both took pleasure in being cared for by the other because neither of them had ever had much experience with it. It was strange and disconcerting at first, but the fidelity of their friendship soon became a gentle reassurance. Their regular check-ins were comfortable, even predictable. It felt like a safe haven amidst the chaos. Even though the world had gone to shit, people still mattered. They both cared about each other.

Daryl had come to admire Carol's emotional strength. When he first met her at the camp at the quarry, he thought she was too fragile for this world. She had an asshole for a husband and she seemed afraid much of the time, always hovering around her daughter, Sophia. When the son of a bitch got bit and died, Daryl had thought it was poetic justice. He had watched closely as Carol took the pickaxe to Ed's skull again and again and again, giving his lifeless body some payback for the years she likely suffered at his hand. Daryl had seen the bruises, he wasn't blind. He felt guilty because he never did anything about it, but Merle had warned him not to get involved. It was none of his business. But he was concerned nonetheless, and watched her like a hawk as she flitted through camp doting on her daughter. He was wary of this woman who seemed to put everyone before herself as she tended to their needs. He'd never seen anything like it, her selflessness. She intrigued him. After Sophia went missing, he tried to redeem himself by searching for her. But he had failed. It nearly destroyed Carol when they found out Sophia had turned. For a long time, Daryl felt like he failed her.

Before the dead started walking, Daryl hadn't made much of his life. He had a hard time keeping a job because he had trouble controlling his temper and got into a lot of fights. Someone was always running their mouth about some shit they didn't know shit about, and it pissed Daryl off. He drank a lot. Not the way his Daddy had, but enough to forget himself. Enough to forget how scared and lonely he felt most of the time whenever he was around other people. The only time he ever felt true peace was when he was alone in the woods. It was the only place he felt connected to everything. It was the only place he felt he belonged. When he was in the woods, he felt sure of himself. He knew his role in nature. He knew who he was. He had come to prefer the solitude the woods offered and learned to provide for himself.

Sometimes, he got sucked into one of Merle's schemes when he'd blow back into town, high as a kite, with his grandiose plans and manic energy. Daryl never really liked taking advantage of other people the way his brother did. It never settled right in his stomach and left him feeling uneasy. Yet, he had a hard time saying no to Merle. He was family after all. Even if he was an asshole most of the time, he was all Daryl had. So Daryl just pushed his feelings down to the place where he buried all his other feelings he didn't think about and just went along with it. Merle ended up going to prison once after one of his scams went south, but he had kept Daryl out of it.

"You're too sweet for the big house, little brother," Merle had told him dismissively. "That place'll eat you alive."

Daryl felt guilty about letting Merle down. He felt that he had failed him somehow. All his life Daryl had felt like the failure his Daddy had always told him he was.

But then a strange thing happened. Carol had sought him out, fearlessly, as he recalled. She stood her ground as he tried, unsuccessfully, to push her out of his mind. He tried to stop caring because the pain of it seemed so unbearable and tore at him from the inside. _Who did she think she was?_ He was nothing to her. He had failed her in every way. Yet, she never saw him in this way that he saw himself. She kept reaching out to him, and refused, quite stubbornly as he saw it, to give up. She had believed in him. She had seen beyond the pretense of his defensive anger to how much he really cared, and called him on his own bullshit. And so Daryl started believing in himself. He started to understand that he had something to offer others. He started to take pride in himself for his ability to hunt and provide for these people he had come to see as a sort of family. A family he never really had. Carol had taught him that the only real failure was running away and not trying. Over time, he learned that caring for others had helped to lessen the pain. People came to respect him because of the effort he made. It took the end of the world for Daryl to find true meaning and purpose to his life.

After they fled the farm, Daryl started teaching Carol how to defend herself. She was an eager student and always listened intently when he instructed her on the proper way to wield a knife. Once he even wrapped himself in pillows and taught her some basic combat moves and how to evade an attacker. He wanted her to be safe. He knew that the walkers weren't the only threat out there. It was anarchy. And as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't always be there to protect her.

She had smiled when she saw him, her eyes sparkled mischievously. "You look like the Michelin Man," she teased.

"Stop," he declared, embarrassed. His cheeks grew warm. "Defendin' yourself is serious business, lady. You can't be worryin' yourself about the other guy's feelin's. You think he's gonna give a shit about yours?" he challenged her.

Carol dropped her smile and bit her lip, stifling the chuckle that threatened to escape. "Yes, sir," she saluted him. "Let's get down to business."

Carol relished her lessons with Daryl. He taught her how to be strong. She learned how to fight back so she wouldn't be a victim anymore. There was no need to let her fear stop her when she could do something. Ed had always made her feel like nothing. As if she were incapable of doing anything. But Ed was dead. She was no longer oppressed. There was no one setting her limits now. Being powerless and afraid had cost her Sophia. It was a painful lesson she would never forget.


	2. Trying

**Chapter 2: Trying**

In those first few days on the road after the farm, Carol rode with Daryl on the Triumph as they scavenged the Georgia countryside for supplies and shelter. Daryl was surprised at how quickly he adapted to her body behind him on the bike. It was as if she belonged there. The feel of her warm arms around him was comforting. He liked her confident silence. It settled him.

Carol's presence reminded him that he wasn't a complete failure. He was capable of some good. He had heard her screams the night the farm was overrun by a herd of walkers and had sprung into action immediately to rescue her from certain death. He had been there, and it made a difference. On more than a few occasions he had come close to leaving the group because he had thought he was better on his own.

Daryl didn't understand people. He didn't understand why they acted the way they did. All his life, he had been abandoned and hurt by people he cared about. Deep inside, he always felt that he was missing something. It never made any sense and he had given up trying to understand it all years ago. No one had ever cared enough about him to notice. As a boy, he had gotten lost in the woods, and no one even bothered to look for him. For nine days, he was alone, hungry and afraid, and he realized that no one cared enough to find him. If he wanted to survive, he would to have to learn to do it on his own. So, he ate berries and made his own way back.

When the farm fell, he knew he would have little chance to make it on his own. The walkers were starting to cluster together. Even though he had good instincts, he could easily get out numbered. He was glad he stayed with the others. There was really no place to go anyway.

He felt like he developed an understanding with Carol. They were similar in a lot of ways, so it was easy to be around her. He was still unsure about the rest of the group, but he knew there was safety in numbers. Rick was growing on him. He seemed fair and valued Daryl's opinion and experience. He entrusted him to provide the group with food and protection. Daryl was beginning to feel respected and useful. And though it wasn't easy, he was trying to get along with everyone.

"We need you," Rick told him that second morning after they fled. He wanted to keep the group intact, but they were almost out of fuel. He sent Daryl with Glenn and Maggie to scout for and siphon gas. "Stay safe," he told them as they drove off.

Daryl intended to do just that. People were depending on him now. It was a strange feeling.

They drove about seven miles before they came upon a lonely, unlit stoplight. It was swaying in the gentle breeze. There was a garage on one side of the road and a diner on the other. They pulled up alongside the garage. There were a few cars parked outside with five walkers milling about them. Daryl had taken two of them out with his crossbow before Maggie and Glenn joined him. They each took out one of the remaining three.

"Nice," Glenn said with a smile afterwards at the ease of it.

Daryl walked up to the garage and peered through the window. "There's a couple o' gas cans in there. Maybe some other stuff. It's empty."

"There might be some food and water in the diner," Maggie suggested. "Me an' Glenn can go check it out. Clear it if need be."

Daryl nodded his head in assent. "I'll get the cans an' start fillin' 'em."

Maggie and Glenn grabbed their gear from the car and then took off across the street. Daryl went back to his bike and pulled out the siphon hose he kept in one of the saddle bags. He looked over at the diner and watched them peering in the glass door before opening it. They signaled him they were going inside and then disappeared.

Half an hour later, Daryl was just filling the second can with gas when he saw Maggie and Glenn emerge from the diner. They were both covered in walker guts and sporting large smiles. The bag Glenn was carrying appeared full. Maggie was holding a large tin can in each arm and a can opener in her left hand. She pushed at Glenn playfully with her hip and giggled. They seemed to be sharing a private joke as they walked back to the car.

"Good score," Glenn called out elatedly as they loaded their plunder into the back of the car.

Daryl grunted his response. He was eager to get rid of the taste of gasoline from his mouth. He finished filling the can and screwed the lid on tightly. He walked the cans over to the car and handed them to Maggie who put them in the trunk. "There's a vendin' machine in the garage," he said to Glenn. "Wanna help me bust it open an' liberate some Gatorade?"

"Uh, yeah. Sounds like fun," Glenn said with a smirk.

Daryl found a tire iron and pried the machine open. He grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and opened it. He took a sip and swished it around in his mouth before spitting it out. He did that a few times, but the taste of gasoline remained.

"Don't suppose you found any liquor in there?" he inquired hopefully.

"No, sorry," Glenn said apologetically as he emptied the vending machine.

Daryl grunted and helped Glenn remove the drinks and load them up into the car. He took one bottle for himself and put it in the bag on his bike along with the hose. He took one last glance at the garage. Curiously, he went back inside and searched in the back office. He found a full pint of whiskey in the desk drawer and smiled to himself. "That'll do," he said to himself as he placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

* * *

><p>Carol was nervous as she watched Daryl ride off that morning with Glenn and Maggie. It had been a rough few days. They had spent the night on the cold ground and her body was aching. She had barely escaped the farm with her life. Daryl had heard her terrified shrieks as she ran from the walker herd and had ridden his motorcycle up to rescue her like some type of redneck Western hero. She felt completely useless. She had no idea how to defend herself.<p>

She was mad at Rick for keeping secrets. He had revealed that Dr. Jenner had told him that they had all been infected by some virus. When they died, they would all come back as one of those flesh-eating things they referred to as walkers. Sooner or later, they would all become the walking dead. Carol shivered at the thought. Her daughter had become one because Rick failed to protect her. She didn't trust him. To make things worse, in a fit of rage at the group's frantic discord, he had told them that he had killed his best friend, Shane, to protect them. _Who could feel safe?_

After they discovered Sophia's walking corpse, Carol had been so distraught and angry with God that she didn't even attend Sophia's funeral. Daryl had gotten so angry with her that he started to withdraw from the whole group. He wouldn't speak to her for a few days. He wouldn't even accept the food she cooked. He made his own meals at the camp he set up away from the others. _What kind of mother doesn't attend her only child's funeral?_ No one said anything to her, but she felt their judgment all the same. Truth be known, she felt too ashamed to see Sophia laid to rest. She wanted to blame Rick, but it was really her own fault. Carol had tried to shield Sophia from the monster she had married, but in the end she realized that all she had taught her was how to cower and flee. She was weak and couldn't protect her. And the monsters had gotten her Sophia anyways.

Carol worried about Daryl. His attachment to the group was tenuous. She was afraid he would run and didn't like to think about him out there alone. At the farm, she had sought him out and pushed at him until he exploded all his rage onto her. She felt like she deserved it. He had almost hit her that night. A part of her wished he had. She felt like she needed to be punished for losing Sophia. It was her fault for leaving Sophia defenseless. But he was no Ed. No, Daryl was made of better stuff. He had a strong moral character and wouldn't dishonor himself. He wasn't cruel. He had seen through her and forced her to see the ugly truth about herself. _I only know how to be a victim._ She had sought Daryl out to make a martyr of herself. But he wouldn't let her. _I'm pathetic_, she thought, disgusted at herself, as he had stormed off to get away from her.

The next morning, she had awakened early from a nightmare. It was still dark out when she climbed out of her tent into the cool night air and started a fire. She was full of self-loathing.

T-Dog was on watch on top of the RV and called down to her quietly. "Everything okay?"

"Can't sleep," she explained. "Can I make you some coffee?"

"I wouldn't refuse a warm cup if you're making some for yourself," he said lightheartedly, rubbing his hands together and blowing onto his fingers trying to warm them up.

She finished stoking the small fire she built and set about the task of heating the water. It gave her a sense of purpose. She liked feeling useful. She stared into the fire while she waited on the water. She focused on the dancing flames and tried to let go of all the nagging thoughts. It was calming. She felt her body relax a little as the heat from the fire warmed her up. _It's not going to do you any good to feel sorry for yourself._

By the time the water finally boiled, the sun was coming up. She poured the water into a mug and stirred in the instant coffee. She climbed up the ladder of the RV and handed it to T-Dog who bent down to take it from her. "Here you go. We're out of sugar and creamer," she apologized.

"It was only a matter of time," he chuckled warming his fingers on the mug. "Thanks anyway."

As she was climbing down the ladder, she saw Daryl approaching the camp with two dead rabbits in his hand. He saw her and nodded a greeting. She nodded back cautiously. She wasn't expecting to see him so soon after his rant the night before.

"Thought you could cook these for breakfast," he said, avoiding her eyes. He held up the fresh kills in his hand.

"Yes, I think I can manage to do something with them. Thank you," her voice quivered as she spoke. "The water's just boiled. Can I get you some coffee? We're out of sugar and creamer right now."

He nodded in acceptance. "'S'okay. I like it black." He stood there awkwardly shifting the weight in his legs.

Carol quickly made the coffee. She was nervous and remorseful as she thought about the night before. She wanted to make it right.

"Daryl," she started as she handed him the mug.

He looked up towards her at the sound of his name and reached out to accept the mug. "I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean to upset you," she finished. She hoped it would do.

He looked at her incredulously. "You got nothin' to apologize for," he said sharply. Then, more softly, "I'm the one who acted like an ass. M'sorry 'bout what I said. It wasn't called for." He shifted his weight and bowed his head.

"You said the truth. You were just being honest." She looked down, twisting at her fingers.

He slowly took a step closer to her. "Nah," he shook his head, dismissing her recollection, "that's not the half of it. You were a good ma. I saw you dote on the girl. You were attentive. She was lucky to have you."

Carol looked up at him with tears in her eyes. He let the rabbits fall from his hand at the sight of them. Then, he reached out tentatively and touched her arm. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," he said sincerely, holding her gaze. His eyes held the pain of regret.

With her throat tight with emotion, she nodded at him and smiled her acceptance of his apology. They stood there, unwavering, bound by the tenderness of the moment. Finally, he broke away, reaching down to pick up the rabbits. "I'll clean these for you an' bring 'em back," he promised. He turned and walked away a few paces before he stopped and glanced back at her. "Thanks for the coffee." He lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip before turning back around and heading off in the direction of his tent.

Unexpectedly, Lori roused Carol from her thoughts. "I really did it this time," she said dejectedly. She sat down next to Carol against the stone wall.

"What now?" Carol inquired, mustering concern. She had no idea what this woman had to complain about. She had a loving husband and a son who was still alive.

"Rick's mad at me," Lori said sorrowfully.

"Lori, Rick's mad at all of us," Carol reminded her.

"But I'm his wife. I'm the one person he needed on his side and I basically shoved him under the bus. I rejected him for killing Shane. For getting Carl involved," Lori explained.

"Ouch."

"Yeah," Lori sighed casting her eyes downward. "I don't think he will forgive me this time."

"You can't know that, Lori," Carol tried to be encouraging. "He's under a lot of stress. We all are. Give him some time. He loves you. He'll come around." She put her hand on Lori's shoulder as a gesture of support.

"Maybe," Lori replied uncertainly.

"Try not to dwell on it. You still have Carl to focus on. He needs his mother," Carol stressed. She felt the loss of Sophia and it pained her that she no longer felt needed.

"I'm not sure about that. He doesn't even listen to me," Lori doubted.

Carol was getting irritated. _She can't even be grateful for what she has_, she thought. It must have shown on her face because suddenly Lori was apologizing to her.

"Carol, I'm such an idiot. I didn't mean to be insensitive."

Carol felt guilty that she wasn't doing a very good job at being supportive. She had to try harder. She needed to do something. She felt helpless just sitting around, waiting. "Well, we can sit around here feeling sorry for ourselves, or we can go gather more fire wood. If we're going to have a pity party, we can at least be warm." She pasted on a smile.

Lori acquiesced, "You're right. This isn't helping."

They had just finished gathering the wood when Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn returned from their run. Spirits were lifted as they emerged with their bounty. Daryl felt a sense of pride when he handed Rick the cans of gas. Rick slapped him on the back in a show of gratitude. Daryl stiffened at the touch, but then relaxed.

"Thanks, for gettin' the job done," Rick told him. "I appreciate it."

"S'gotta be done, right?" Daryl shrugged. He wasn't used to being thanked. It was uncomfortable. "I'm gonna go see if I can't hunt up somethin' for breakfast."

Rick nodded his consent. "We'll come up with a plan after you get back."

Daryl saw Carol making a fire with Lori. He walked by them on his way into the woods. The success of the run had put him in a good mood. "Better get that fire blazin', ladies," he called to them boldly. "I'll be back with breakfast."

"You taking requests?" Lori joked.

Daryl shrugged but didn't slow his momentum. He was almost strutting.

"I'll take an Egg McMuffin with cheese!" Lori shouted after him.

Carol laughed and added, "And don't forget the hash browns!"

He waved them off, shaking his head. "Don't hold your breath!" he hollered back.


	3. Small Blessings

**Chapter 3: Small Blessings**

The mid-afternoon sun was burning hot as it sank into the horizon on the day that their convoy pulled into the storage unit parking lot. There were only a few cement buildings nestled into a dense patch of trees, just uphill from a creek. Still, there was the promise of shelter and clean clothes, and if they were lucky, fresh game that Daryl could hunt or trap.

The group had been constantly on the move in the two weeks since they lost the farm. They had stayed in truck stops, homesteads, motels, wherever they could find a few moments of peace. But it was always short lived. They eventually left out of danger or necessity. Luckily, they had managed to obtain a few necessary supplies.

Nomadic life was hardest on Lori. She was always uncomfortable or hungry as her body changed to accommodate the new life growing within. Carol felt sorry for her. Rick had been distant since he took control of the group that first cold night on the road. The stress between her soured marriage and life on the run didn't help settle Lori's stomach.

Carol sometimes rode with the Grimes' just to help lighten the tension between the couple. Lori had been in a somber mood all morning and Carol had exhausted herself trying to comfort her and be supportive. She wished she had ridden with Daryl. She silently muttered a prayer of thanks when they pulled up and parked next to the small office building with a sign that read, "Bob's StorAll." The truck had barely stopped before Carol had opened her door and jumped out, desperate for fresh air and sunshine.

She noticed that Daryl had already parked his bike, readied his crossbow, and was peering through the lone office window. She walked a few paces from the truck and started stretching her legs and arms trying to release the tension that had formed during the long ride. "God, it feels so good to move," she stated, raising her arms overhead, fingers clasped, and leaning over to her side.

He turned his head towards her and squinted. "Woulda been worse if you'd been on the bike," he offered.

"You didn't have to ride with Lori," she grimaced as she rolled her eyes.

He snorted in response, the corners of his lips turning up slightly. "Touché."

The rest of the group started gathering in the empty space between the vehicles. Rick called out to Daryl, "Is it empty?"

"Could be. Looks like there's another room in the back. I'm thinkin' maybe a bathroom. There's some locks an' bungee cords that might come in handy. I'll clear it," Daryl stated and set to work picking the lock.

Rick nodded his assent and turned towards T-Dog. "T, why don't you get those bolt cutters and see if we can't clear out a few of these units. Location's good. We should stay the night. May be a few days before the herd comes through here." He sounded hopeful.

"Sounds good to me," T-Dog called as he searched the back of the truck.

Soon the group was rifling through the storage units, looking for useful items while clearing out the less practical to make room for the survivors to sleep. They managed to clear out three units. Hershel, Beth, Maggie, and Glenn took the largest unit. Rick, Lori and Carl shared the smaller unit next door. T-Dog, Carol, and Daryl were given the unit on the end.

Carol worried about Daryl when she saw where they were expected to sleep. She knew Rick wouldn't allow Daryl to sleep outside in the open air by himself. But she also knew Daryl didn't like being confined in a small space, especially with others. It made him tense and prickly with everyone. She was aware that it had something to do with his past, but she never asked him about it. She respected his privacy. The world was full enough of monsters now without digging up past demons.

While digging through a storage unit, Carol found a futon mattress and some old hand-made quilts, and she quickly set to nesting. She gave the futon to Lori. "Looks like you could use some comfort," she said, extending her offering. She hoped a good night's sleep would fix her gloomy mood.

"It's not the Ritz, but it'll do," Lori joked about their new accommodations as she helped Carol roll out the futon on the concrete floor.

After the futon had been laid out, Carol turned to gather the quilts as Beth walked by. "Those are beautiful," Beth said, admiring the quilts. "They remind me of my Mama. She liked quiltin'."

"Here," Carol told her, passing her a quilt made of white, lavender, and light green material. "You can have this one. It's the prettiest." She smiled. She knew the girl was still struggling after losing so much.

Beth reached for the quilt, her eyes filling with tears. "Thanks, Carol." She reached over and gave Carol a shy hug.

"Don't mention it, sweetheart," Carol said lovingly as she rubbed Beth's arms in soothing strokes. "Do you want to help me see if we can loot some pillows?" Her eyes danced playfully as she smiled.

"Sure," said Beth, wiping her eyes.

The group was all smiles as they excitedly explored their new treasure trove. They found some camping equipment which they immediately put to use. Carl hollered out a joyful "Awesome!" when he discovered a stack of comic books in a chipped plastic container.

Daryl made his way towards the others after clearing the office. He found Carol with Beth, rummaging through several boxes, and he handed her a huge stack of moving blankets wrapped in plastic that he had been carrying.

"Found 'em in the office. Figured they'd come in handy." He gave her a reserved half-smile.

"Absolutely, Daryl. I know just what to do with these," she told him. She looked awkward holding the large bundle. "Thank you."

He stood there for a few moments with a pained look on his face. He wondered if he should have taken the blankets back and helped Carol find a more suitable place for them. But then Carol turned away and placed them on top of an unopened box.

"I told Rick that I'm gonna go out and see about gettin' dinner," he announced, giving her a nod. "Enjoy the scavenger hunt." He tossed Beth a courtesy glance before leaving hastily.

After their new accommodations had been arranged, Carol set out with Beth and Carl to gather firewood. She knew Daryl would be back with something. He was a good hunter. Sure enough, after she had lit the fire and started boiling some water they could drink, Daryl came traipsing out from the woods with a slew of squirrels on his belt.

"It's not much," he told her, sitting down beside the fire on a chair that Carol had dragged over. He started to prepare the squirrels for cooking.

"It's enough," she heartened as she knelt down and began to help him.

The two of them worked in silence. It was quiet, peaceful, with just the sound of the cicadas serenading them. Every so often, someone's gleeful laughter floated up from the concrete buildings. The sun was setting behind the tree line, casting warm orange light and long shadows on the hillside.

The fire crackled and popped as Daryl finished skinning and gutting the last of the squirrels. He gazed at Carol who was intently cutting up the meat into the pan. Her small hands were steady and sure with the knife, but her eyes were sad and distant. He realized she was thinking about Sophia. He felt his chest tighten as he watched her work. She seemed to him a figure of serene and sorrowful beauty as the last of the daylight illuminated her.

He heard the hushed voices singing out from the storage units. He turned his head in that direction, but he didn't see anyone approaching. He turned back and watched Carol set the pan on the camping grill. "How come it's always you out here doin' all the work?" he asked, somewhat irritated.

Carol was pulled from her thoughts. "Hmmm?" She lifted her head to give him a puzzled look.

A sharp crease formed on his brow as he pointed emphatically to the building. "They got mouths come time for feedin'. But I ain't seen none of 'em ever lift a hand to help you."

She shrugged. "You're here."

He grunted affirmatively and stiffened a little in the chair.

She shook the pan some before placing it back on the grill. "Besides, I don't mind," she stated, her voice growing more remote. "I need to do something. What else do I have to offer?" She stirred the meat and then opened a can of vegetables.

He bristled, wiping his knife on his pant leg as he stood. Daryl shook his head. Her humility was unnerving. _How could she not see?_ he questioned to himself. He bit at the inside of his lip and stood there looking puzzled. A voice within him responded, _Maybe she don't know._ Then, he remembered she was married to an asshole. He growled. "You ain't no burden."

Carol looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear. She felt exposed. He had read her like a cheap paperback. It was shameful. She wanted to slip away and make herself invisible, but there was nowhere to escape to. So she hid behind the frying pan and stirred in the vegetables.

Daryl watched her collapse into herself and make herself smaller. He wondered how that was even possible as he stared at her small frame. Frowning, he didn't understand why she was retreating. He blamed himself; he tried not to be abrasive around her, but he wasn't really used to considering someone else's feelings. A heavy sensation filled the pit of his stomach and began to churn in his confusion. He chewed at the skin around his fingernail, assuming he was disappointing her. "I mean it," he forced. "Hell, you do a lot for us." He realized he was towering over her, so he sat back down in the chair.

"Not enough," she quietly objected, shaking her head. "Not like you."

Puffing out a sigh of disbelief, he glared at Carol, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

She turned to him. "Anybody can cook a meal, Daryl. Wash a pair of pants. You risk your life every day trying to save people's lives. Our lives." She turned back to the pan, angry and defeated, stirring the stew brusquely. "I can't do any of that. I couldn't save Sophia. I can't even save my own life. I want to be able to do that."

He twitched at the mention of Sophia's name. The regret perched onto his shoulders before a light bulb went off inside Daryl's head. "You wanna learn to fight?"

She turned back to him. "I want to learn how to defend myself. I want to learn how to survive."

He'd been fighting his whole life; he could teach her. Deciding this, he nodded his head. "I can show you." He would do this for her—he wanted to. It was the least he could do.

Carol's smile began to radiate across her entire face until her eyes shimmered with hope. It knocked the air out of him. He nearly tumbled out of the chair.

* * *

><p>Over dinner, the group happily shared about their newly discovered treasures and then discussed plans for the night's watch. It was agreed that Hershel and Rick would take first watch. Rick expressed concern about their being low on ammo and thought they should head out to a hunting store within the next few days.<p>

Afterward, some began to retire for the evening. Carol left the dishes to be cleaned up by the others. It had been a long day and she was tired. She left with Daryl on the short walk to their accommodations to retire for the night.

When Daryl saw the unit they expected him to sleep in with Carol and T-Dog, he almost bolted. He had half a mind to tear through another unit just by himself. But it was dark now, and Carol had gone through the trouble of building them each a bed from the packing blankets he had given her, and he didn't want to hurt her feelings.

T-Dog was already reclined next to the wall. "Oh, it's about to get real cozy up in here," he stated sarcastically.

"Just like a slumber party," Carol teased back in a singsongy voice, easing herself to the ground next to him.

T-Dog looked at Carol, chuckled, and shook his head.

Daryl looked between the both of them. "Party? This ain't no reason to celebrate."

"No, it's not," Carol stated, looking at Daryl expectantly while fluffing a small pillow. "But we're alive. Safe for now." She stuck with the positives for his benefit, trying to encourage him. She set the pillow down and lay down on her back.

"There's that," T-Dog agreed. "Small blessings."

Daryl scoffed and reluctantly closed the unit door before he climbed into the empty space on the blankets. It was tight. _Close._ Disgruntled, he laid on his side facing the interior of the room and let out an exasperated sigh. He was uncomfortable, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He saw Carol reach up behind her to turn off the camping lantern that was emitting a cold blue light into the small space. Then there was nothing but total darkness.

"Good night," stated T as he tossed about, trying to get more comfortable.

"Good night," Carol replied cheerfully as she pulled the quilt up to her chin.

Daryl grunted into the darkness.

Carol lay there in the dark with a smile on her face. Although her body ached with exhaustion, she was brimming with anticipation. Daryl had told her he would teach her how to fight. No one had ever offered to show her how to defend herself. She felt grateful and relieved. Letting the feeling of relief spread through her entire body, it carried her off into a deep sleep.

She awoke in the night, freezing cold, to the sound of the unit door opening. She could make out Daryl's silhouette standing overhead. He leaned over and tapped T-Dog in the leg. T let out a soft groan, before whispering, "I'm up."

It was the changing of the guard—the third shift. She had been so tired, she slept through the first shift change without stirring. Faintly, she heard the sounds of rustling as T-Dog stood up. Daryl said something to him in a hushed voice, and then T disappeared.

"What time is it?" Carol asked quietly, her voice all husky with sleep.

"Early," said Daryl, keeping his voice down as he stepped into the unit. "Too early." He closed the door and made his way back to his spot in the total darkness. Laying down, he was immediately grateful for the slight padding provided by the blankets underneath him. His body ached with fatigue. As he lay there in the silent darkness, he could hear Carol's teeth chattering.

The cold night air had chilled the concrete beneath them. Carol pulled up the thin quilt over her head and breathed heavily on her fingers in efforts to reduce her shivering.

"You cold?" He was concerned.

"Ju-just a l-little," she trembled.

He pulled his poncho over his head and spread it across her shoulders. "Here."

"No, Daryl," she refused, "you need that. I can't."

"Just take the damn thing," he argued in a firm voice. "I'm fine."

She sat up on her elbows and furrowed her brow in distress. "Will you at least share it with me?"

Daryl froze. He didn't say anything and she couldn't see his expression. She started to shift her position and nervously rearranged the blanket and poncho, holding them up towards him. "Let me share them," she said.

"I said I'm fine," he barked, still holding his breath. His body was rigid and unmoving.

She stopped moving, sensing his discomfort of the implied closeness. "Honestly, Daryl, I'm not gonna bite you. But I won't be able to go back to sleep if I think that you're suffering in the cold. Please?" She was insistent.

Daryl was flustered. He bit his lip. The space was tight enough and now she was asking him to share a blanket? Yet, there was something in the tone of her pleading voice that cut through him. It made him want to yield to her. It left him defenseless.

"Fine," he said sharply, still tightly wound. Begrudgingly, he moved a little closer to her, pointedly searching out in the darkness for the blankets. He grabbed at them sourly when he found them.

Carol gasped when she felt him pull harshly on the blankets. When she eased herself back down, she slowly edged her way a little closer to Daryl, attempting to leave him with enough personal space. This was definitely out of his comfort zone and she was afraid of riling him up further.

Fitfully, he lay down on his side next to Carol. She was so close, he could feel the warmth of her running along the front side of his body. He felt trapped with the wall right behind him. He forced himself to take a few slow, deep breaths. _Get it together,_ he thought. He convinced himself the proximity to Carol was necessary—the woman was nothing but skin and bones after all.

Daryl was like a furnace. Her body warmed quickly enough that she stopped trembling, but her body remained tense. Finally, she felt Daryl settling beside her. She willed herself to relax and closed her eyes.

He felt the movement of the blanket cease. "You warm enough now?" His voice was gentler, tender even.

His words caught her by surprise, but his tenor was soothing. "Mmm hmm," she murmured barely rousing. It was all she could manage as she let the cozy warmth seep in. She felt herself drift down into a peaceful slumber.

Daryl listened for Carol's breathing to deepen and even out before he truly allowed himself to relax. He had to admit that the shared warmth was more comfortable than he'd imagined. He took another deep breath in and caught her scent. It was sweet and earthy, and oddly calming. It reminded him of the lush soil deep in the woods, all fresh and vibrant after it rained. So, he immersed himself in her fragrance and allowed it to soothe all the thorny edges of his frame. The panic that was swelling inside began to smooth out and grow still. He felt his eyelids grow heavy with the promise of verdant dreams, so he let sleep take him there.


	4. Home

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews everyone. I'm glad you are liking the story. I'm enjoying writing it. Trigger Warning: Please note that there is mention of domestic violence in this chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Home<strong>

When Carol awoke, daylight was filtering through the cracks of the unit door. She felt weighted down even though she felt rested for the first time since the world had gone to hell. Noticing that Daryl's arm had fallen across her during the night, she panicked wondering how he might react to such an innocent situation. He was mistrustful and kept himself at a great distance from the rest of them whenever possible, so she worried that he'd blame her—it was her fault—she had insisted they share the warmth. But she didn't want him to be angry with her. Not after he'd promised to teach her how to fight.

She turned her head slightly to take him in. He looked so vulnerable coiled up next to her, sound asleep. His face was nearly nuzzled into her neck. She listened to the heavy rhythm of his breathing. It pained her to think about this tender side of him that he tried to keep so deeply hidden. He was usually tightly wound, defensive, as if he expected harm to come to him. She understood that feeling. She knew how that had come to be. Though he had tried to hide them, Carol had seen the scars on his back that night he had returned with Sophia's doll and a puncture wound in his side from where he had fallen on his own arrow trying to find her daughter. Even before she had seen the scars, she knew that Daryl had had his own asshole in his life, his daddy most likely, who tried to beat out the sweetness that lived in the very core of him. It hurt to remember how Daryl had recoiled from the kiss of gratitude she had planted on his forehead. He didn't understand why she had been so grateful to him—almost like he had been shocked she'd noticed him at all. He had risked so much for her; yet, he had no idea how significant his actions had been and what they had meant to her. She told him, of course, every chance she could get, but he still couldn't see who he really was. It saddened her that she had to tell him the weight of his own worth, that he was every bit as good as the others. _Every bit._ And secretly, Carol respected Daryl more than the others because he had made much more of an effort to help her. It was harder for him, she realized, because no one had ever believed in him, and he was trying so hard to do what was right.

She was growing quite fond of Daryl. Yes, he was prickly, but his heart was always in the right place. He was kindhearted, but insecure. Getting close to others was a terrifying necessity for him. As much as he prized his solitude, he couldn't make it on his own. Not now. Carol learned quickly that patience was the more effective approach with him. Humor worked, too, if he was in the right mood. If she pushed him too far outside his comfort zone, he lashed out. But as much as Daryl bit out, he was still honorable. He would always do what was needed if he could. He just needed time to come to his own conclusions. They were building trust together. It was precarious, but it was a start.

She felt his hand jerk and pull at her belly. He began to stir beside her, letting out a soft groan. She closed her eyes and feigned sleep. She knew it would be worse for Daryl if he knew she had seen him in this way. He would be embarrassed if she had witnessed his humanity, his accidental closeness. He was so afraid that his tenderness would portray him as weak. When really it was the thing she admired most about him: he was sensitive and clearly aware of the needs of others and his willingness to take action made him a strong asset to the group. So she kept her distance and played along, supporting him at every opportunity, waiting for him to realize that there was nothing wrong with needing comfort. She wanted him to have it.

Daryl was dreaming about his mother's garden. It was a memory from long ago that he'd almost forgotten. He was just a little boy, barely out of diapers. He remembered seeing her, his mama, kneeling on the ground, her hands plunged deep into the moist earth as she planted seeds. She glistened under the sun like the angel they had hung on the Christmas tree. It was a hot day, and beads of sweat had gathered along her brow and the back of her neck. There were a few strands of hair which fell alongside her cheeks from the single braid in which she had always worn her long, brown hair. They blew across her face in the light breeze as she worked. He adored her. She smiled at him as he toddled towards her, his hands outstretched, proudly showing her a fragrant, white flower that he had picked. She wiped the hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand and sat back on her heels. Her eyes were the color of the sky.

"Did you pick this for me, Daryl?" she asked him affectionately as she reached out to take the flower from him.

He beamed at her and shook his head in delight as his mother accepted his offering. He grabbed at his hands excitedly when she placed the flower behind her ear.

"You wook pwetty, Mama," he gushed jubilantly.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet boy," she told him as she gathered him into her arms. "I love you."

She showered Daryl with kisses and he squirmed with glee. He felt light and free. _Safe._ He hugged her eagerly and she smelled like fresh earth, roses, and— _Home_.

The image of her faded like an antique photograph. It browned at the edges and lost all its color until all he could see was the light where her face had been. Only the sweet smell of her remained. He reached out and tried to hold onto the memory of her. _Mama._

Daryl felt the security of her warmth permeating his chest, filling him up as he breathed in her soothing sweetness. Experiencing a sense of wholeness, he wanted to stay there in her arms. A soft moan of pleasure escaped from his lips. _Comfort._

He opened his eyes slowly. The garden had disappeared. He was in a darkened room that was very dimly lit. A warm, contented feeling bubbled up from within his well-rested body. He could stay here all day feeling this relaxed. _Where am I? _he wondered somewhat blissfully disoriented and not quite ready to fully awaken. Sluggishly, he started to move, trying to gather the warmth around him. There was a pleasant smell in the air. _Earthy._ He felt something soft shifting beneath his hand. Something warm. _ Alive._ He heard the gentle sound of someone breathing.

_Her._

The thought sent a jolt through Daryl, fully awakening him with a start. _The storage unit, h_e remembered. His eyes saw her then, sleeping peacefully. _Carol._ He was curled around her, holding her. _Don't let go_. He was flooded by conflicting feelings. The shock of it all coming fully into his awareness had him quickly retreating from her. He scrambled away until his back met the wall. The sudden coldness of it startled him, causing his breath to turn rapid and shallow. Briefly immobilized as the coolness bit into him, he immediately missed her warmth.

Carol began to stir and awaken. Her movement set him in motion. Clumsily, he lunged for the door and opened it quickly. The brightness of the morning sunlight blinded him, and he stopped reflexively to cover his eyes with his arm.

"Good morning," Carol asserted as she arose, shielding her eyes from the harsh light.

He looked towards her trying to hide the confused terror on his face. She was just a darkened shadow. Daryl couldn't get a read on her expression. He acknowledged her with a nod and reached down to grab his crossbow. A lump was constricting his throat. "Mornin'," he managed to squeeze out awkwardly as he stood.

"You sleep okay?" she inquired, keeping her voice steady.

_Okay?_ The memory of lying next to her floated up around him like a warm bubble. It had made him dream of the safest place he had ever known. Speechless, he simply nodded and gazed at her, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He wanted to see her face. Those eyes. Blue eyes like his mother's. It made him panic. _Did she notice?_ He didn't want to find out so he walked away, hurriedly, too afraid to look back.

* * *

><p>A short time later that morning, after receiving a lecture from Rick about safety, Carol gathered with Lori, Beth, and Maggie down at the widest part of the creek. She was excited about the prospect of bathing, even if the water was cold. They had all stripped down to their underwear as they washed themselves and their dirty clothing.<p>

Lori was hesitant as she sat at on a flat rock, pistol at her feet, scrubbing her shirt. "It's freezing," she complained.

Maggie floated out to the deepest part of the creek. "Just pretend it's a hot tub."

Lori groaned. "Oh, don't I wish." She stood and stepped gingerly into the brisk water, tossing Carol one of the thin bars of soap they had taken from the roadside motel they stayed in earlier that week. "Hot tub, hot tub," she persuaded herself, closing her eyes.

They giggled and gossiped and lamented not having any razors. Carol took the soap and lathered herself with it.

"I just wish we had a decent conditioner," Beth complained as she eased herself into the frigid water. "My hair's gettin' so dry an' brittle."

"You and me both," Lori chimed in. "Carol's the smart one with the sensible style."

"Ha!" Carol expelled the irony from her lungs, remembering the true reason she had really short hair. "I guess there's one advantage for having this shitty haircut. My hair used to be just a little bit longer than Maggie's...until Ed gave this to me as a punishment one night shortly before all this happened. He took it off with a pair of clippers because he said I was acting too high and mighty." She explained as she washed herself.

Her body tensed as the memory of Ed pulling her by the hair into the bathroom came flooding back to her.

"Shut your fucking mouth, you stupid cunt," he had screamed at her as she yelped in pain. Annoyed by her cries, he grabbed her by her throat so she couldn't scream and brutally shoved her against the sink while he cut her hair off.

"You think you're something? You ain't nothing but a fat, ugly whore," he had reminded her as he ran those clippers over her head. "Best learn your place."

Carol shuddered as she rubbed her throat, recalling the cold rage in his eyes. She had felt lucky that she had escaped with her life that night.

"What an asshole," Maggie stated frankly, pulling Carol out of the memory.

"Yep," Carol agreed, sucking in a breath. She looked down at her hands and focused on feeling the coolness of the water on her skin as it anchored her in the present moment. She felt the self-hatred rising up. "I was an idiot for even marrying him."

Maggie gave her a sympathetic look. "Carol," she said disagreeing.

"Ed was the fool," Lori stepped in to clarify the matter.

There were a few moments of awkward silence that followed. Carol was on the verge of beating up on herself again.

"Glenn's not like that," Carol smiled at Maggie, trying to get out of her head and remove the focus from herself. "He's really sweet. I can see why you like him."

Maggie blushed. "He is. He's thoughtful. He really cares about everyone. I really like that about him. Plus, he's super cute."

Maggie laughed and splashed at Beth. The girl shrieked when the cold water splashed across her face and chest. "Maggie!" she admonished her in a lighthearted tone and then splashed back at her sister.

Carol handed the bar of soap to Beth and ran her soapy hands through her hair. She ducked her head under water and swam out to Maggie. The water felt refreshing. "I feel almost human now," she stated cheerfully.

They continued to playfully splash around after they had gotten themselves and their clothes clean. It was only after their skin started to wrinkle that they finally made their way out of the creek.

"Think the men missed us?" Lori inquired as they dried themselves off with the cheap motel towels.

"Of course they did," Maggie teased as she dressed. "What's not to miss?" She struck a coquettish pose with one hand on her hip.

They laughed heartily. For a few minutes, they forgot all about their situation and the plight of the world.

Carol was feeling invigorated as they made their way back up the hill to the storage units. T-Dog, Glenn, and Rick were gathered around the fire telling stories to Carl. They looked up when they heard them approaching.

"See, it don't matter where they go, women always take their sweet ass time in the bathroom," T-Dog explained teasingly to Carl.

Rick and Glenn laughed in agreement.

"We were just makin' ourselves beautiful," Maggie said.

"I don't think that would've taken very long," Glenn flirted, all starry-eyed, with Maggie. He smiled.

Maggie glowed as she smiled back at him. The two of them gazed longingly at each other, forgetting everyone else.

"Oh, ho, ho!" T-Dog called out laughing. "That's my boy!"

They stood around engaging in lighthearted banter as the women hung up their wet clothing around the fire to dry. Carol stood there for a few moments before wandering over to the units where she knew she'd find Daryl on watch.

Daryl was standing on top of one of the concrete buildings keeping lookout while Hershel was down below patrolling. When Hershel saw Carol approaching, he smiled.

"How's the water?" he inquired of her.

"A bit chilly, but I'm not complaining. It's the first real bath I've had in weeks, seems like."

"I know what you mean," Hershel replied. "I plan to make my way down there as soon as Maggie gets back."

"Might be a while," explained Carol. "She kind of got detained. By Glenn." She chuckled. "He seems real sweet on her."

"That he does," Hershel agreed. "He's a nice boy."

Carol nodded and then looked up at Daryl, who peered over the edge of the building at them.

"How's it look from up there?" she asked him.

"Fine. All clear," Daryl answered. "Kinda strange, ain't no stragglers come through." His face took on a puzzled look.

"We didn't see any by the creek either," said Carol, echoing the surprise.

"I'm sure it won't last," Hershel warned.

Daryl nodded. That was their reality now. Sooner or later the walkers would come. They just never knew how many it would be. Carol grabbed at her arms as she thought about being on the run again. She looked spooked. Daryl remembered what they had discussed last night by the fire. She was scared; he knew that even before she looked up at him and he could see it plain on her face. He hated that look, the way it pulled the light from her eyes. It made something tighten in his chest. Though he promised himself he'd look after her, he knew he couldn't always be there. It was right to teach her what he could so she had a chance.

"I ain't forgot," Daryl said, acknowledging Hershel's words, but speaking to Carol.

Satisfied, she nodded at him and gave Hershel an awkward smile before turning to go rummage through one of the storage units. She needed something to keep her mind busy until Daryl was free. Luckily, there were plenty of boxes to delve into. She engrossed herself in the task of searching through the unit for something useful. Something she could use to defend herself. It was sort of like cleaning house and rearranging furniture, which she would always do when she was upset. It was how she coped. It was something she could control.

As she worked, she thought about the way Daryl had torn out of the unit that morning. He couldn't get away fast enough. She didn't blame him; there wasn't a lot of space, and he wasn't used to being in close proximity to anyone. While she admitted to herself that she had felt safe last night with him sleeping beside her, she didn't want to be the reason that pushed him away. So, she figured if she cleaned this unit out for him, he could have some privacy back.

Stacking and organizing the boxes she examined, she cleared herself a path through the cluttered unit. Upon lifting some boxes towards the back, she found two fishing poles that were stashed behind them, against the wall. She pulled them out thinking Rick might like to take Carl fishing down at the creek. A few minutes later, she spotted a rust-colored tackle box sitting on a shelf and lifted it up. Inside, there were some lures and small tools. She saw something black with a metal stripe running down the middle of it. When she picked it up, she noticed there was a lever mechanism on it. As she pressed the lever, a double-edged blade shot out the top of the handle, taking her by surprise. _A knife._ She released the blade and put it in her pocket. _Her_ knife.


	5. Shadowboxing

**Chapter 5: Shadowboxing**

"It's an automatic knife," Daryl was explaining to Carol in a gentle manner as he examined it. "It's got a small handle, so it'll be a good fit for a hand like yours."

He put the handle of the opened knife into her hand. "Feel that?"

Carol nodded feeling the heaviness of it in her palm before she gripped her fingers firmly around the handle.

"That's the balance," he pointed. "The weight of it."

"It feels good," she commented, enjoying the solid feel of it in her hand.

"You like it?" he asked tilting his head and squinting at her. His voice held a soft lilt.

She smiled and nodded. Holding it gave her a new kind of confidence.

"Good," he nodded back. "It's gotta feel like it's a part of you."

They had gone into the woods a bit so that Carol's lesson wouldn't be a public performance. Daryl seemed to sense her discomfort and had led her to a secluded space between two yellowed Hickory trees. Carol felt grateful for his keen perception. She was nervous enough, she didn't want the watchful eyes of the others critiquing her every move.

She was embarrassed about her lack of physical prowess. She had never been athletic. The one or two times Ed had permitted her to take an aerobics class she had felt completely uncoordinated as the instructor had shouted out directions over the deafening, fast-tempoed dance music.

The trees were rustling in the gentle breeze. A few leaves descended gracefully around them. The late autumn air had warmed some as the sun had reached its apex, but it still remained crisp in the shade. Daryl moved about in front of Carol as he instructed her.

"Alright, now, before you think about thrustin' that knife, you gotta think about where you get your power from. It don't come from your arm." He shook his head to stress his point. "It comes from here," he clarified putting his hand on his own abdomen. "The center of your body."

Carol mimicked him, placing her hand on her belly. Daryl nodded approvingly at her.

"Every move you make starts here," he continued. "Not at your hand. Got that?"

"Movement starts from the center," she understood.

"Right. Next, you gotta think about your balance." He approached her and pushed gently but quickly on her shoulder. She staggered slightly.

"You feel that? What happened?" he asked her after she righted herself.

"You pushed me and I stumbled," she answered plainly.

"Why did you stumble?"

She briefly hesitated before she responded. "I felt unsteady from the force of your push."

He nodded at her. "Why did it make you feel unsteady?"

"Because-," she thought about it, chewing at her lip, "because you pushed and I wasn't ready for it?" She wasn't certain.

"Hmm. Alright," he said, scratching at his head just behind his ear. He paused for a moment to think about how he wanted to explain his point. "Look at your feet."

She complied with his request. He pushed at her again. She tipped a little until she righted herself.

"Tell me about your feet," he expressed with interest, crossing his arms.

"When you pushed me, I shifted my weight more into my left foot and my right foot came off the ground a little bit."

"Okay. Step your feet apart a li'l wider there." He pointed down at her feet.

Again, she did what he asked. He pushed at her shoulder again. Her torso moved, but her feet didn't this time.

"What's different?" he questioned her.

"I didn't move as much. My weight still shifted but I felt more grounded."

"You were more steady on your feet, huh?"

"Yes," she agreed. "I was."

"So what does that tell you?" He crossed his arms again.

"That I have more stability when my feet are farther apart."

He nodded and gave her a slight smile. "That's right."

She smiled back. She was getting the hang of it.

"Now, think about the stance you wanna take if you were gonna thrust your knife forward into a walker who was about your height. Think about where the movement starts from. Feel the balance o' the knife in your hand."

Carol took a moment to ponder Daryl's words and then arranged her feet on the ground. She brought her attention to the knife in her hand. He circled around her. She could feel his eyes examining her as he did so.

"Now, imagine that nasty geek's in front o' you. Ready to bite you. What're you gonna do?" he asked her.

She lifted her arm and swung down awkwardly across the air in front of her.

"Nope," he shook his head disapprovingly.

"No?" Carol turned her head, giving Daryl a puzzled look.

"Look at your fingers, your grip's all wrong. If that blade gets stuck you could cut your hand if it slips. Point your fingers down." His words were firm, but without cruelty.

She changed the position of the blade in her hand.

"That's it," he encouraged her. "Now try again."

She lifted her arm, this time turning her wrist slightly as she cut through the air at an angle.

"Better," he allowed.

Carol smiled to herself at his approval.

"But you gotta remember, those fuckers don't stop. They're always comin' at ya. So you gotta be light on your feet, ready to move. Bend your knees. Shift your weight onto the balls of your feet so you can stay in control o' your movement." He adeptly demonstrated his instructions as he spoke.

"Okay," she said, nodding her head as she understood. She bent her knees and shifted her weight, then stiffly swung her arm into the air again.

He watched her swing the knife. "You nervous?" he inquired, drawing his brows together in curiosity.

"What?"

"You look tense," he commented. "Relax a little."

Carol had been so focused she hadn't realized how rigid her body was. She relaxed her shoulders and swung again less clumsily.

"That's it," he told her. "You feel the difference?"

She nodded smiling. She was enjoying this. Daryl was a good instructor. He had a simple way of explaining things so that she understood.

"You got the basics, but now think about the challenges. What would you do if the son of a bitch was taller than you? Lemme see that," he said, holding out his hand, requesting her knife. He came forward a step and stood in front of her about an arm's length away.

She handed him the knife, handle first. He analyzed it briefly. "Your knife ain't that big. How're you gonna get it where it needs to go?"

Carol bit at her lip and pondered Daryl's question. She lifted up on her toes and made the same stabbing motion towards Daryl with her empty fist.

"That it? Think that'll do?" he questioned her. "Try it again."

She stood up on her toes again and went to repeat the action with her arm. Daryl pushed on her shoulder and she lost her balance. She stumbled backwards.

"Not that easy, huh?" he asked her, raising his eyebrow. "It might work, but there's not a lot o' room for error. You can also try thrustin' the knife up or kickin' the son of a bitch in the knees so you have better leverage. Find your advantage. Use it. You're smarter than them lame-brained idiots. Alls they know is instinct. Don't be afraid to throw your weight around an' pull the bastards off balance."

Daryl continued his instruction as the afternoon progressed. He showed her some basic kicks and punches and had her practice them for a good long while. Before long, Carol was bobbing and weaving as she shadowboxed imaginary threats. By the time they finished, she was drenched in sweat. She felt exhilarated; hopeful. A healthy pinky glow gleamed on her cheeks.

Carol was cheery as they made their way back to the units. There was a lightness to her stride that he hadn't seen before. Daryl felt pleased with himself that he had been part of the reason she was in such a good mood. "You did good," he offered her proudly.

Carol had told him he was a good instructor. He dodged the compliment and told her that she was a quick learner. She had been easy to coach. But while he knew that she had picked up a great deal from their session about basic self-defense, she was still inexperienced. She needed more practice if she was ever going out on a run. Shit happened. There was no time for hesitation or panic, and Carol still seemed nervous and unsure of herself. So Daryl had agreed to spend a little time with her every day, training her to help build her confidence. When he felt she was ready, he would take her out on a run with him to give her some field experience.

As they sauntered up to the concrete building which now served as their living quarters, she pulled at his elbow playfully, guiding him in front of one of the unit doors. "I have a surprise for you," she smiled at him. Her eyes glowed with a mischievous glint.

"Oh yeah?" He couldn't imagine what it might be. The anticipation fluttered in his stomach when he saw the way she was looking at him.

She opened the unit door. "Ta da!" she announced with her arms outstretched.

Daryl looked inside. The unit had mostly been cleared out except for a few larger pieces of furniture. In the empty space were laid some packing blankets, a quilt, Daryl's poncho, and a couple of small pillows.

"What's this?" he asked uncertainly. His chest suddenly tightened.

"It's yours," she beamed excitedly. "I had some time earlier when I was waiting for you. I thought you might like it better. Less crowded." She smiled at him knowingly.

His heart sank. He didn't understand why he suddenly felt disappointed. _She don't want me near her._

She was confused by the look on his face. He looked frustrated. "Is it okay?" she worried. "I know I couldn't move everything out, but at least you won't have to sleep with your back up against the wall."

"You tryin' to get rid o' me?" Daryl asked, scowling. His voice held a thick layer of suspicion as his eyes narrowed. A dark, heavy sensation began to spread inside him, numbing him.

"No," she chuckled nervously. "I-I just thought you'd be, um...more comfortable with the space." Carol grew more uneasy as he seemed to be getting more irritated. She was concerned that maybe she hadn't done enough. "Daryl, is there something wrong?"

"It's fine," he barked, feeling inadequate. He turned away from her, his eyes rapidly scrutinizing the room. "I woulda moved stuff." His voice was faint, almost detached. The numbness grew within him as he moved into the space in a sort of daze. "Coulda hurt yourself," he mumbled bitterly. His eyes landed on the quilt. It looked similar to the one he had shared with her the night before. The sudden recollection of the warm, relaxed feeling he had while holding her flashed in his mind, alarming him. Panicking, he suppressed it. He thrust it deep within, beyond the cloak of numbness, denying it as if it never happened. _What the hell is this doin' here?_ He snatched up the blanket. "Don't you need this?" There was a sudden intensity to his voice. He handed it to her gruffly.

"No, that's an extra one for you." Carol grew more timid reflexively. Her chest collapsed. Her skin grew clammy. She didn't move to take it.

Daryl growled. "Take it," he snarled, vaguely puffing out his chest. "Ain't gonna be any warmer tonight."

"But it'll be cold in here by yourself. You'll need it." She was stubbornly refusing to take the blanket, and it was infuriating him.

Narrowing his eyes again, he glared at her. _By yourself._ He wasn't sure why the words bit into him. He was fine on his own. He didn't need the stupid blanket. He didn't need her to look after him. The pressure in his chest was unbearable. "Quit your motherin'!" he snapped. "I'm a grown ass man! Take the fuckin' blanket and leave me the hell alone!" He tossed the blanket at her feet as he walked away in a huff.

Carol flinched when Daryl threw the blanket at her suddenly and stormed off in the direction of the woods with his crossbow firmly in hand. She was confused. _Where did I go wrong?_ Daryl had done a kind thing and taught her how to defend herself. She thought she was returning the favor by giving him his own space. But she couldn't even do that right. Maybe what he'd said last night was right, she was trying too hard to be helpful. She didn't know what do with herself. She could hear Ed's voice clamoring in her head, _You'll always be a useless bitch._

All the energy that had invigorated her from the day's activities suddenly drained from her body. Every muscle cried out resentfully. She walked slowly over to her unit, lifted the door and crawled inside. She had to lay down. Her body ached with exhaustion. As soon as she closed the door behind her, Carol collapsed into a heap of defeat onto her blankets. As she lay there, the guilt percolated, consuming her thoughts. She should be out gathering firewood. But she did not have any energy to fight the throbbing fatigue that had rapidly spread across her entire body. One of the others would probably get to it. She pulled the quilt over her head. _What was the point?_

* * *

><p>It was quiet. The peace of it had melted away the cynical resistance which had clambered into Daryl's mind with a throbbing force. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there with his back up against a birch tree, staring at the pile of dead leaves at his feet. He had long ago given up on the notion of hunting, having stomped aimlessly into the woods a good ways before he had realized any game around would have heard him coming and skittered away. His breathing had returned to normal and he was starting to become more aware of his surroundings.<p>

He had been angry, but he wasn't even sure what had set him off exactly. He'd acted like an ass in front of Carol. Again. He got flustered around her a lot, it seemed, and he didn't have any idea how to deal with that. It felt like he was always putting his foot in his mouth which only confused things for him even more.

He never had someone be nice to him without wanting something in return. It was hard for him to accept. He wasn't sure why, but Carol had cleared out that unit for him. _She ain't shown you nothin' but kindness, _he thought to himself_._ He should have been appreciative of her effort; hell, he had the idea to do it himself the night before. Instead, he had acted like an ingrate and nearly threw a blanket in her face like a willful child. _Always fuckin' shit up_, he reproached himself for it.

They were friends. He knew that was true. Carol had told him they were. She didn't deserve the grief he gave her. _Ain't right._ _Puffin' out your chest? That who you are now?_ _What're you tryin' to prove?_ He couldn't even answer for himself. Feeling foolish, he knew had to apologize to her. She had been understanding before, so he hoped she would again. The sudden fear of losing her friendship panged in his gut. He liked her. And when he got honest with himself, he admitted that he cared about her. He didn't want to squander their friendship. It was too important. It was starting to mean something to him. He just didn't know exactly what that was yet.

Daryl stood and gathered his crossbow. He was losing the light and had to get back to camp. It would be his turn for watch soon. On his way back, he shot a few errant squirrels so he wouldn't have to return empty-handed. He felt he had caused enough disappointment for one day.

The sky was a dark shade of crimson as he returned. Most of the others were sitting around the fire chatting.

"Any luck hunting?" Rick inquired as he saw Daryl approaching.

Daryl tossed the dead squirrels down and looked at all the expectant faces. The corners of his lips tightened. "Not much," he replied, looking down into the fire, hiding his disgrace. He didn't see Carol among them. The hope that had been sitting precariously in his chest suddenly plummeted down the center of his body.

Maggie picked up the fresh kills. "It's something. Me an' Beth can make a stew." She smiled softly.

Looking up, he nodded at her and shifted the weight in his feet awkwardly as he stood there. He wondered where Carol was. Maybe she had listened to him and took the night off. His stomach tightened. Something wasn't right.

Someone was talking, but Daryl really didn't hear what was being said. He didn't really care at the moment. "Where's Carol?" he interrupted.

Blank faces stared at each other and then back at him. Beth was the first to speak up. "I haven't seen her since this morning when we got back from the creek."

Hershel nodded his head in agreement. A quiet look of concern settled across his face.

"Wasn't she with you earlier?" Lori inquired of Daryl.

He felt his chest constrict with guilt. The air burned as he took a breath in. "We got back a couple hours ago before I went out again." He studied them deliberately. Rick's face was stony and impassive. It made the hair on the back of Daryl's neck bristle with ire. He became apprehensive. "You mean to tell me, you ain't seen her?" His voice took on a grave quality and grew acidic. He was dismayed at their blank faces. "None of you saw fit to ask her how she was doin'?" he interrogated them angrily. "What the hell's wrong with you people?" He threw his arm out at them in a wide, dismissive motion.

Rick shifted and stood up, the concern only now mirrored on his face. "Don't put yourself out." Daryl slung the words at him bitterly.

He left abruptly, keeping an intense pace until he reached the concrete structure. The door to her unit was closed. Taut with anticipation, he hoped she was in there. A gnawing sense of urgency compelled him; he had to make sure. Without thinking, he lifted the door with a quick tug. It clattered opened with a squeaky rattle.

The room was dark. He shined his small flashlight inside. When he didn't see her immediately, he panicked. His breathing grew short and rapid. "Carol?" he called out to her in distress. There was a cold, sinking feeling in his stomach. When there was no response, he called to her again. "Carol?"

He thought he saw something move in the shadows where the quilt lay. He knelt down and blindly searched with his hands. The warm lump under the blanket stirred slightly. "Carol," he said, the relief breaking through in his voice.

Carol sat up quickly, pulling the blanket from her face. "Daryl? Is everything okay?" Her body felt heavy and stiff.

He chuckled lightly. "Yeah," he told her, letting out a deep breath. "Jus' makin' sure."

Her brows came together in a look of confusion. Daryl took note of the dullness in her eyes. The sparkle that was usually present was missing. "What time is it?" she inquired, her voice cracked and bleary from sleep.

"Almost dinner time."

Carol made a move to get up. "Okay, I'll get everything ready."

Daryl pushed her back down gently, using the tips of his fingers. "Relax. Been takin' care of."

The crease in her brow deepened with worry. "I'm sorry, I was feeling really tired." She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, but the sparkle remained absent.

The absence of the sparkle troubled him. "Ain't no need to apologize. You worked hard today. Hell, you work hard every day. You deserve a break." He gave her a quick, reassuring smile as he sat back against the wall.

A comfortable silence enclosed around them as they looked at each other. There was a flash of recognition in Daryl's eyes. It was enough for Carol to feel a glimmer of validation rise up in her chest. The crease in her brow softened. In that moment, nothing else needed saying that had not already been acknowledged between the two of them.

The intensity of the encounter made Carol suddenly self-conscious. She looked down at her hands searching for something to say.

"Daryl," she began ruefully, "I don't mean to mother you. I know you can take care of yourself." Her eyes returned to his, full of sincerity.

He dropped his gaze. _She thinks it's her fault._ He felt embarrassed by her remorse. "Shit ain't your fault, Carol." The words fell soft and easy from his tongue. There was a penitent look deeply set in his eyes when he lifted them again. "Don't go thinkin' it is."

"But-"

"Jus' don't." He shook his head, holding her gaze imploringly as he atoned. "M'sorry I lost my temper."

She tilted her head as her eyes widened. "I guess I'm just not used to that," she said in a moment of revelation. She suddenly felt a lightness in her chest as if some burden had been peeled away.

"Used to what? Me being an ass?" he asked her skeptically.

Smiling lightly, she shook her head. "Not being blamed. Everything was always my fault. Before."

She wouldn't say his name, but Daryl knew she was talking about her asshole husband. A subtle indignation simmered within him for all the ways that she had been hurt by that creep. He felt protective of her with a surprising fierceness; he would have killed the bastard if he hadn't been dead already.

"It ain't," he said bluntly, staring her straight in the eye.

The remaining heaviness in Carol's body evaporated as his words penetrated the core of her being, emancipating her from the woeful fetters of her past. She smiled at him. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, and behind them, Daryl could see the sparkle returning. The sight of it pulled tenderly at the thick mass around his heart.

"I never met anyone who cared as much as you without wantin' nothin' for themselves." He looked down bashfully at the crossbow in his lap. "Hell, I kinda like it," he confessed. "Suppose it's also somethin' takes a li'l gettin' used to."

He met her eyes again and the corners of his mouth shifted upwards readily. She wiped at her eyes and nodded at him with assurance. He was making an earnest effort.

They sat quietly together as the darkness set in. Finally, he asked her, "You hungry?"

"Starving," she replied, her eyes opening widely in confirmation.

"Yeah, I figured," he said, standing up, extending his hand to her. She took it and he gently pulled her up. He hesitated for a brief moment, maintaining the contact with her purposefully, as if he was making sure she was alright. The shy smile he gave her was endearing. She felt his calloused thumb ghosting across the top of her delicate hand. The pure honesty of this simple gesture resonated up her arm sending warm, tender shock waves throughout her body. Her eyes glowed brighter, more hopeful. A sense of satisfaction surfaced at the edges of Daryl's face. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it, and then he slowly turned to leave. "C'mon. Let's go find out what those assholes did to dinner."

"Don't be mean," she said playfully and followed him out into the night.


	6. Distractions

**AN: **Thank you for your reviews! They are very motivating. :) This started as a simple one-shot. Thanks for your encouragement to keep going.

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: Distractions<strong>

A few days later, Daryl awoke in the early morning, his body stiff again from the cold. He cursed at himself for throwing that blanket at Carol. It continued to be bitterly cold at night, but he had too much pride to ask her for the blanket back. _Dumbass._ He was beginning to rethink his strategy. Maybe Carol did know what was good for him after all. He was starting to wonder how he could ever doubt her. The woman knew things about him. Just knew. He liked that about her, but it also unnerved him. It made things confusing for him.

He got up and made his way outside into the frosty air. It was still dark out. He knew Glenn or T-Dog would be grateful to be relieved from watch. Rubbing his hands together, he made his way up above on the small utility ladder they had found. Glenn was pacing on the roof trying to stay warm. He came over when he heard Daryl approaching.

"Hey," said Glenn, surprised to see him. "You're early. Change isn't for another hour."

"You wanna complain about it or get another hour of sleep?" Daryl grumbled. Lack of sleep always made him grouchy and the past few nights were taking their toll.

Glenn put his hands in the air in surrender. "Easy. Didn't get your beauty sleep, did you?"

Daryl glared at him humorlessly.

"Okay, I'm going. T's down there patrolling. I'll let him know we switched out."

Daryl nodded and watched Glenn climb down the ladder and disappear around the building. A few minutes later he reappeared briefly before disappearing again into his unit.

Alone again, Daryl relaxed a little, taking in the fresh air. He liked being on watch. It was something to do and it gave him time outside, where he felt most at ease. He stared out into the night. The waxing gibbous moon was setting near the horizon casting an eerie glow on the road and around the buildings. As he exhaled, his breath was illuminated in short, silver wisps that danced in the air.

They would probably need to move on from here soon the way Daryl figured. It was getting too cold at night as winter rapidly approached. Rick was concerned about Lori. They had managed to avoid the herd for now, but the danger still lurked. Since they arrived, there had been surprisingly few walkers that had wandered close to camp. Never more than three at a time. But it only took one to cause problems. Just like it had for Dale. They tried not to use the guns for safety reasons—they were lucky they hadn't needed to yet—so they always kept two of them on watch at all times.

They were going on the ammo run as soon as the sun rose. They had been fortunate so far in what they'd been able to scavenge. The storage units had been an odd oasis, giving them a few days of needed rest from their constant running, but Rick felt it was time to stock up and continue preparing for the next crisis. The fall of the farm had taught them all that they weren't safe anywhere for very long. Everyone needed to be prepared; they needed to stay sharp and ready for danger. Upon learning about the training Daryl was giving Carol, Rick had scouted the road leading west and found an open field he thought would be a good place to set up a firing range. It was too risky to have it close to camp.

The wind picked up severely, sending a shiver up Daryl's spine as it gusted across the open space. He saw T-Dog make his way out of the shadows towards the unit. When he saw Daryl on the roof he gave him the all clear signal. Daryl acknowledged him and watched him wake Rick for shift change and then climb back into the unit he shared with Carol. He was envious of the warmth that he knew was waiting for the man inside. As he thought about it, Daryl felt a stabbing sensation in his gut and his fists tightened from the blow. An image of T-Dog, snuggled under a blanket with Carol, flickered in his mind and made him prickle. He groaned to himself as he looked away.

Impetuously, he climbed down the ladder and found Rick standing on the road. Daryl told him that he was going to walk the perimeter. He needed a change of scenery—and to put as much physical distance between himself and that concrete building. He didn't want to be thinking about Carol. Trying to clear his head, he wandered along the tree line, rubbing his hands together under his poncho. Daryl kept his eyes trained into the darkness of the woods and made a mental note to pick up a pair of gloves on the run. _Focus_, he demanded of himself.

But something smoldered and scratched in the back of his brain. He was agitated. Against his will, his eyes kept returning to that concrete building. Every betrayal pricked him at the bottom of his gut like a jagged barb._ What the hell you lookin' for?_

He bit at the skin around his fingernail as if he could remove the irritant with his teeth. Quickening his gait like his boots were on fire, he propelled himself forward. Once again, he directed his gaze into the woods, trying to discern the shadows and counting out the shrubs as he passed just to keep his mind occupied.

Before long, the moon finally set, cloaking the hillside in complete darkness. He took out his flashlight and shined it on the ground in front of him and into the trees. There was nothing out there. Just the quiet babble of the creek disturbing the stillness of the night. The only horror was what lurked in Daryl's fertile imagination.

Dawn arrived at a painstaking pace. He met up with Rick, Glenn, and Maggie in the parking lot in front of the small office building. After a while, the others started their ritual gathering to send them off. Carol arrived with T-Dog beside her. She was grinning and laughing and Daryl watched her rest her hand lightly on the man's arm. The barbs jabbed at him and he felt the heat rising on his neck. He coiled into himself, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and he let out a low growl. _What's so funny?_ He turned to avoid looking at her and intently focused on what Rick was saying.

"If anything happens, wait for us at the field up the road," Rick was telling Hershel and Lori, who had already crowded around the Suburban. "We should be back by noon."

Rick turned to Carl. "Stay close to your mother," he warned, giving him a stern look.

"I will," Carl replied, smiling sheepishly as his father mussed his hair.

"If anything happens, I'm counting on you to protect her."

Carl's smile faded and his face became serious as he realized he was being confronted with responsibility. He nodded, touching the gun at his hip. _No more kid stuff_, he remembered.

Daryl approached his bike and threw his leg across it as the others climbed into the Suburban. He released the kickstand and started the engine. It rumbled noisily as it idled. He felt a gentle nudge and flinched. Turning his head, he suddenly found himself staring into Carol's blue eyes. The sparkle he saw there unraveled him, and he fell into the seat clumsily.

"Stay safe," she bid him fondly and flashed him a huge smile that made the sparkle reverberate warmly inside his chest.

He blinked, trying to break the spell that seemed to captivate him. Struggling, he reached for the words, but couldn't find any. So, he simply nodded, letting out the breath he was holding. Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes from her, directing his attention to shifting the bike into gear, and then turning it widely to follow the Suburban out and down the country road. For miles, Daryl felt the echo of her smile, protecting him like a shield against the icy bite of the wind.

* * *

><p>Carol sat at the patio table with a faded orange umbrella that someone had dragged out of one of the storage units. She was playing Solitaire with a deck of cards she had found. It helped to keep her mind occupied. She was worried about the others on the run. Everyone was. She had tried to comfort Lori, but Lori was being too negative, and Carol could only take so much of that. It was too draining. She needed a distraction from her own fears, she couldn't wallow in them. That only made things worse. It was like walking on a tightrope; it was too easy to fall into the misery or be tempted to hang herself with the rope in despair.<p>

"How many games is that now?" T-Dog inquired as he passed by on his patrol.

"Seven," Carol answered, without looking up, "I think. I've lost count."

He chuckled. "Didn't know that game was so excitin'."

"It's not really," Carol responded casually, placing the Ten of Hearts on the Jack of Spades. "Just something to do."

"I hear that. Maybe later we can play a hand of Rummy?"

Carol looked up. T-Dog was standing a few feet from the table, his hand over his eyes, guarding them from the morning sun. "Sure," she said as she winked at him. "Carl tells me you're a fierce opponent."

"He said that, huh?" he asked with amusement. "Maybe that's because I caught him cheatin'."

Carol giggled.

"It's true! Gotta keep an eye on that boy," he smirked. "I'm tellin' you."

T-Dog sauntered off across the grass towards the trees. Carol, with a brighter spirit, returned to her game. When she finished it, she'd realized she'd had enough, and decided to try something else.

* * *

><p>Daryl was frustrated. He was off his game. Distracted. It was dangerous. He had been thinking about Carol since they left that morning. Somehow she had clawed her way into his brain like an infection and wouldn't leave him alone.<p>

He thought it was because he was worried about her. The storage units had been secluded enough so far, but he knew what was out there waiting. Sure, he had been showing her some combat moves, teaching her how to defend herself and fight off an attacker, but it was all speculation and shadowboxing. He hadn't had a chance yet to give her some supervised field experience to test what she had learned.

But it wasn't just the worry that ate at him. There was something in her eyes that haunted him. It sparked a hint of friction within him that he couldn't really identify. It was disconcerting. And the more he tried to figure it out, the more incomprehensible it became, placing Daryl in a state of total vexation.

He almost bit it on the road. Thinking he had seen a Cherokee Rose bush growing off the side of the road, he had turned his head for only a moment to gaze at it and nearly lost control of the bike when he ran over a fault in the road. _Fuck! Gonna crash over a damn flower!_ He was annoyed with himself.

But it wasn't just any flower. It was a symbol of hope and strength that he had once given to Carol in attempt to lift her spirit when Sophia had disappeared. And his effort had indeed built up her hope that he would find Sophia, only to have it completely destroyed when Sophia stumbled out of Hershel's barn. Carol had been devastated; he felt her come apart in his arms as he'd held her. Hell of a lot of good all that hoping and praying had done for her little girl. _Shit._ The guilt threatened to leak out of his eyes. He pushed it all down and drove on through.

The shopping center outside Greenville, where the recreational store was located, had been crawling with walkers when they arrived. The parking lot was recessed into the hillside, keeping them trapped there by a car that had stalled in the entrance. They had to create a distraction to lure them away before they could clear any walkers inside the store.

After they had pushed the car out of the way, Glenn had snuck down and hotwired one of the parked cars. Luckily, the car had a CD inside the player, so he blared the music as he drove away slowly, getting a majority of the walkers to follow him. A short while later, Daryl and Maggie had crept down the embankment to pick off the few walkers who trailed behind. Daryl lost his footing halfway down and tumbled the rest of the way. Luckily, his crossbow had survived, but his pride had not remained intact.

"Don't you say a fuckin' word," he threatened Maggie as she stifled a laugh once she realized he wasn't injured.

His face burned hot with rage and embarrassment. Daryl was having a bad day. Flustered, he tried to pull himself together. They had a job to do; people were counting on him. This wasn't the time to come unscrewed. He paced in front of the entrance just to give himself something to do with all that pent-up energy while they waited for the others. By the time they made it into the store, Daryl wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

They split off into teams of two and pushed through the dimly lit store, attacking anything that moved. Daryl rounded the corner and was nearly blind-sided by a walker that he hadn't accounted for when he peered around the aisle. Then, he had tripped over a box that had dropped in his path and would have fallen right into a walker's open mouth if it hadn't been for Rick's quick reaction. He's pretty sure Rick saved his life in that moment by kicking the walker out of his way and then bashing its skull with a bat he had picked up from the sporting goods section. Daryl only had a moment to give Rick a brief nod of thanks before a fresh round of walkers, attracted by the commotion, was upon them.

It was a grueling endeavor, but they eventually managed to clear the store of walkers. When they got to the hunting section, there were only a few guns remaining. They grabbed the two Remington hunting rifles and a pair of Smith & Wesson .40 caliber handguns. There were a couple boxes of shotgun shells left in the display case. It was not what they were hoping to find.

"All that work for this?" Glenn asked unhappily.

"People were stockin' up after the news broke," Daryl stated, shrugging. "Makes sense." They should have known. _Jus' another pile o' crap on a shit sundae._

Rick's face was brimming with disappointment. He slammed his fist onto the display case. Pausing for a moment to let his rage diminish, he would not admit defeat. "Maybe there's a stock room. Glenn, Maggie, see if you can find where that is.'

Glenn and Maggie nodded and started to retreat. Daryl held up his hand to stop them.

"Won't do much good unless you got a way to break into the safe," he told them, pointing out the fault in Rick's plan.

Rick glared at him for bearing the bad news, but Daryl ignored him and walked away searching for other things they could use. He found some arrows for his crossbow and put them in his quiver. Then he went in search of a pair of gloves.

* * *

><p>Carol soaked in the creek enjoying how the coldness of the water soothed the burning ache in her muscles. The solace of a few stolen moments alone was a rare occurrence she took advantage of. Her training with Daryl was rigorous. It was tough, but she liked that it was. Daryl pushed her hard, beyond what she perceived as her limits, and he refused to let her give up. He challenged her to move past the obstacles her mind set in motion, refuting her long-held convictions that she wasn't fast or strong enough. The soreness she was left with reminded her that she was stronger than she had believed. The harder she worked, the better she felt about herself. Carol was changing. She was shedding the skin of the meek woman she had been before the world went to hell.<p>

She had always been a survivor. But for the first time in her life, Carol felt like she was more than that. She wasn't just surviving; she was fighting to live. During her training, Daryl made her think, encouraged her to make decisions based on what felt right in the moment—to trust her instincts. As a result, she was starting to feel more sure of herself. She was starting to believe that she was indeed capable. By taking these first steps—by taking action—it felt like she was taking control of her life. It made her think that anything was possible.

Appreciating her body, she soaked herself until she couldn't feel her toes, and then she made her way out of the creek, dressing quickly. Still feeling a bit stiff, she did some stretching before she turned to walk up the hill towards camp. As she spun around, she heard the snap of a twig before the moaning that let her know she was no longer alone. She looked over her shoulder and saw a single walker wandering along the opposite side of the creek. She froze. Fortunately, the walker hadn't seen her yet.

She felt a pounding in her ears as her breathing picked up, but she stayed perfectly still, waiting to see its reaction. The walker, a female, was dressed in a ragged yellow dress with a filthy blue apron. Carol tried not to imagine who the woman had been before. She tried not to consider that she had been someone's daughter. That she had been a mother's pride and joy. She couldn't. This wasn't about her feelings, Daryl had conveyed to her, this was about life or death. Pushing her thoughts aside, Carol focused only on what remained.

Its skin was dark and rotten, peeling away from the bone in wide, decaying strips. Its hair was drooping in matted cornrows. The putrid stench of it hit Carol from where she was standing. It made her stomach turn. She felt her fear slipping cold and wet down the back of her neck. Slowly, she put her hand into her pocket and felt the knife there. Her fingers grazed the hard grip of the handle. Taking a breath, she wrapped her fingers around it and waited. Slowly, it fed her courage. She remembered Daryl's words as she scanned her surroundings: _Find your advantage. Use it._

The walker stumbled forward directionless until it picked up Carol's scent. Instinctively, it turned towards her and started to cross the creek, staggering as it did. The moment the walker tripped on the uneven bed of the creek, Carol sprang into action. She pulled the knife from her pocket and swiftly pressed the lever, releasing the blade. She was on the walker in three long strides. It reached out for her leg as she approached it, but before it could touch her, Carol had plunged the knife into the back of its skull. The impact made a squirting sound as rotten brain matter erupted like a blackened geyser, spraying her with the rancid goo. Carol recoiled from the surprise of it and fell backwards onto a large flat rock. She felt the disgust twist in her stomach as a jolt of pain shot up her spine. She nearly retched.

She took a moment to compose herself before getting onto her feet. She pulled the corpse out of the water and let it fall onto the bank as she caught her breath. Blood was still hammering in her ears as Carol felt a mixture of apprehension and exhilaration from her first kill coursing through her veins. She had done it. She had done it gracelessly, but she had done it. She broke out into a large grin._ I can do this_, she thought as she was filled with a new sense of hope.

With a great deal of effort, she dragged the walker up the hill before she signaled to T-Dog to come over. He came jogging towards her when he saw what she was doing.

"Killed myself a walker," she stated proudly.

"I can see that. You okay?" he inquired, raising his eyebrows. "You shouldn't go off on your own like that."

"It was just the one. And I managed just fine."

"It appears so," he agreed, chuckling to himself as he examined the walker. "Shit, it ain't never had a chance." He shook his head in awe. "Carol P., Walker Slayer."

"You know," she said, smiling, "I like the sound of that."

He mirrored her grin. "I'll alert the press," he quipped. "While you're waitin' for the paparazzi, why don't you help me haul it over to where we burnt the others."

"Okay," she said as she bent down to help him lift the corpse and carry it to the pile of scorched bones and branches.

After they tossed it onto the pyre, T-Dog pulled a lighter out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Slayer's privilege," he declared respectfully.

Carol took the lighter and set fire to the walker's dress and a few of the branches which lay beneath the corpse. As she watched the fire burn, she felt like she was razing the cage of victimhood. _Never again_, she reflected as the flames burned away thick layers of self-doubt. As the new vow began to flicker within and grow stronger, she pulled the wedding ring from her finger and tossed it into the pyre. She was ready for a fresh start.


	7. Doubt

**AN:** Thank you for your reviews! I'm glad you are liking our characters. I've made a few minor corrections after my husband pointed out to me that they have a Suburban, not a Bronco. Silly me! This chapter was a bit awkward and difficult to get out. I started and stopped and deleted and rewrote it, so please let me know what you think. I do hope to take this through S4 and have written some drafts of the later chapters. I hope you will stay with me!

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: Doubt<strong>

The clouds gathered low in the sky in leaden clusters, echoing the gloom that had settled into those who returned from the run. Rick tried to hide his worry by telling everyone that they would still proceed with target practice that afternoon. However, the tension still remained in his eyes and his voice was clipped as he spoke. No one protested.

Carol hadn't understood the reason for the solemnity as it seemed that the run had been a success. As far as she knew, the run had gone fine logistically as they had all returned safely. Among other supplies, they had come back with a few guns and some ammunition.

Then Glenn explained how much of an arduous undertaking it had been for what they were able to acquire. Rick had been hoping to find more ammunition. They needed more. This was made evident on the way back to camp, when they had run into another herd of about sixty walkers and needed to take a detour.

"It was like when cattle is put out to pasture," Maggie reported. "They were all blockin' the road."

"They are definitely migrating," Glenn piped in. "Traveling in packs."

"They're huntin'," Daryl agreed.

The group got quiet as they all contemplated what that might mean for them.

Trying to lighten the mood, Rick turned to Carl. "Did you listen to your mother?"

Carl smiled awkwardly. "Yeah. Kinda."

Daryl snorted. _Sounds about right_. The kid had been trying to be on his best behavior since Rick started giving him more responsibility. But Carl was not above testing his limits.

Rick gave Carl a playfully stern look and tried to hide his smile. "You kinda did? Or you kinda didn't?"

Carl blushed and looked at his mother uncertainly.

"He kinda did this time," she said as she smiled approvingly and placed a kiss on the top of his head.

Feeling proud of his son, Rick almost smiled at Lori, but something interfered with his ability to make the connection. His eyes grew distant and he returned his attention to the group. Lori felt slighted, casting her eyes down in defeat.

It was T-Dog that broke the news as he was informing Rick about how his patrol had gone.

"Another walker stumbled into camp while you were gone. Down by the creek. Carol took it."

All eyes looked in Carol's direction. Her face turned red, and she folded into herself slightly.

"Oh my god, Carol," said Lori, giving her a concerned look.

"I'm fine," Carol insisted indignantly when she realized they had their misgivings. "I know you're all surprised. But I'm fine."

Daryl had felt a surge of pride with Carol's assertion. He gave her a half-smile and a respectful nod of recognition. But then he remembered he was cross with her, she was the source of his frustration, so he quickly looked away and tried not to notice that sparkle in her eyes reflecting his esteem. He needed to avoid her for a while. Thinking about her had been a liability today; it was what nearly got him killed. Maybe it was all that extra time he had been spending with her teaching her how to fight. But he couldn't exactly stop doing that. His head started to throb as he thought about his dilemma. He had to get away as soon as possible.

Maggie put her hand on Carol's shoulder in support and gave her a smile. Rick looked at Carol doubtfully, but then gave her a terse nod of acceptance. His eyes filled with trepidation as he glanced at Lori.

"We can't stay here too much longer," Rick declared, addressing the group. "The rain will be here soon. The ice. It will make travelling more dangerous. Especially by motorcycle."

Rick looked at Daryl uneasily.

"Pftt. I've ridden through worse," Daryl asserted, folding his arms across his chest, not sure what Rick was implying.

"I don't doubt that," Rick explained. "But we need to look out for each other. The ice and rain aren't the only threats anymore. We need to find shelter for the winter and keep an eye out for those herds. Start tracking them. There may be more like them. We need to be prepared. All of us."

Carol's confidence had improved greatly, so when Rick suggested that she pick up a gun and finally learn to use it, she didn't shy away from it. After the truck was unloaded, Carol went with Rick, Carl, and Beth out to the field for target practice.

Rick paused as he handed her a shotgun. "Are you sure you're up for this, Carol?"

She didn't like the tone of his voice, his hesitation, but she nodded and smiled sweetly. "I'm sure," she said, accepting the gun.

She was ready to learn. Carol hadn't really been present the last time he'd held target practice. She had been too preoccupied with Sophia's disappearance to follow anything Rick or Shane had said. But she had also been so convinced that she wouldn't be of much use, she didn't even bother to try. Ed had always told her she was lousy at everything she did, and of course, he had said it so often, she believed him.

But lately, Carol was starting to realize that she wasn't incapable; she was simply inexperienced. And she was hungry for knowledge to help her rectify this. She listened eagerly as Rick instructed her at length on the finer points of gun safety and then showed her how to load and aim the shotgun. But while Carol wanted to learn how to shoot, she didn't much care for Rick's pedantic style of instruction. At times, he seemed almost condescending to Carol and talked to her like she was a child. She found herself wishing Daryl were present. He always treated her like an equal, even though she was pretty new to fighting. It was quite remarkable how he challenged her instead of assuming she was inept. Carol supposed that since Rick had taken it upon himself to be their leader, perhaps he felt the need to adopt a fatherly approach out of a sense of responsibility. For whatever reason, it seemed to zap the confidence from her as the afternoon wore on.

The first time she shot at the tin can, she missed it completely. She thought she had followed Rick's instructions exactly. She squared herself off to the target, refocused her aim, and pulled the trigger once more, but failed to hit the target again. The harder she tried to concentrate, the worse her aim had been. Frustrated with herself, she was close to giving up. But she didn't. She knew Daryl would be angry with her if she did.

Instead, her mind wandered. She wondered what was going on with Daryl. Upon his return, he had seemed more aloof than usual. Carol thought he might have said something to her about the walker that she'd killed. He had given her the impression that he'd approved, but then Daryl had barely spoken to her after they unloaded the Suburban. With a sober expression, he had thrust a down sleeping bag into her arms and curtly told her, "Stay warm." Then, he had disappeared into the woods with his crossbow slung across his shoulder.

Returning her attention to the task at hand, Carol wished she felt as comfortable shooting the gun as she did holding the knife. The gun was loud and unwieldy. She was feeling incompetent, and the recoil didn't help. The jolt was a constant reminder that she was failing a big test. She could feel Rick's disapproving eyes on her. She knew he didn't believe she could handle it and she was proving him right. She was annoyed.

To her relief, the weather quickly changed. The wind began to increase as the sky darkened, threatening to storm. The smell of ozone hung densely in the air as the electrostatic tension accumulated around them.

"Looks like rain," said Rick, announcing the obvious. "This wind isn't helping any. We should head back."

Carol sighed as she handed the gun back to Rick.

"Keep trying. You'll hit the target eventually," he encouraged her with a sympathetic smile.

The wind was blowing fiercely when they returned to the storage units. The group that stayed behind had been busy preparing the camp for the incoming rain. Glenn and Maggie had put up giant tarps between the rooftops of the storage buildings. They built a fire circle on the cement underneath the tarps and were boiling water to reconstitute those freeze-dried meals they had picked up on the run. But they hadn't needed to because Daryl triumphantly appeared dragging the field-dressed carcass of a yearling buck.

They had just finished the venison that Carol had cooked when the thunder boomed overhead. When the storm finally broke, it was bucketing. Everyone retreated to the refuge of their units. No one was left on watch because visibility was so low. And it was freezing cold.

As the thunder rumbled and roared overhead, Carol shimmied herself into the sleeping bag Daryl had brought her, feeling eternally grateful for his thoughtfulness as she pulled the hood over her head.

T-Dog laughed when he saw her. "Now that's just adorable. You look like a mummy."

She giggled. "At least I'm a warm mummy."

"Cozy, huh? Well, aren't you a special one," he teased. "He bring enough to share?"

Carol gave T-Dog a confused look. "You didn't get anything from the run? I'm sure Rick will-"

"That ain't who I was talkin' 'bout," T-Dog interrupted her.

"Daryl?"

He gave her a confirmative nod. "Very thoughtful of our lonely hunter."

She nodded her head, looking down at the sleeping bag in appreciation as she snuggled deeper into its warmth. "Yes," she agreed. "Daryl is very thoughtful."

"Mmm hmm. He's so damn considerate of all of us," T-Dog stated sarcastically.

"He's trying. And, well, um, he kind of knew I get cold at night."

He raised his brow. "Oh?"

"Uh, we- we've talked about it," Carol clarified nervously. She wasn't sure she should share the details of their awkward conversation and how uncomfortable it had made Daryl.

"You've _talked_ about it. I see," T responded. His face held only a hint of a smile. "So he just _happened_ to be thinking about you while he was out."

Carol nodded, unaware of what T-Dog was insinuating.

He shook his head at her cluelessness. "Shit, what's a brother gotta do to get some kindness up around here?"

"You know, if there's something you need you can just make a list," Carol kindly reminded him.

Another thunderclap echoed loudly, rattling the doors of the units, effectively breaking off the conversation. Carol didn't think she could sleep with all the noise. A line of worry appeared in her brow as she recalled how afraid Sophia had been of thunderstorms as a young child. Her sorrow and guilt churned in her stomach as the storm raged. She could taste the bile as it bubbled up into her throat. Sinking down into the sleeping bag, she closed her eyes, but all she could see was that tin can sitting on the fence, taunting her.

"That's some storm out there," T-Dog commented on the clamoring, pulling her from her thoughts.

Carol looked over at him and nodded in agreement. She was glad for the company.

"When we were kids, my sisters used to be so afraid of thunderstorms they would hide under the sheets," he said, initially amused by the memory, but his eyes grew sad and distant as it sat in his mind.

"Sophia, too," Carol replied, smiling sympathetically at their similar recollection. It helped to be reminded that she wasn't alone in her grief; others were making peace with their losses, too.

He shook his head after a brief moment of silence as if to shake out the grief that had collected there. Turning to Carol, he tilted his head and smiled. "How does that help, exactly? I've always wondered that. I mean, it's not like it really makes it any less noisy."

"No, it doesn't. God," Carol chuckled before continuing, "what I wouldn't do for a pair of ear plugs right now!"

"Oh, those are definitely goin' on the list if I have to suffer another night listenin' to Hershel snore. I swear that man saws logs with a chainsaw when he sleeps!"

Neither could control the laughter that burst forth from their lips. And it really was the best medicine Carol knew.

"Since it appears we're not going to get any sleep for now, do you want to play that game of Rummy?" she asked him, sitting up and pulling out the deck of cards.

"As long as you don't cheat," he snickered.

Daryl was feeling cold and miserable, trapped inside the small concrete room, while the sound of the rainfall beat heavily against the roof. He tried to sleep, but every time he nodded off, the din of the thunder and the clattering door awoke him. Feeling resigned, he sat up and turned on the lantern. First, he sharpened all his knives. After he was done sharpening his knives, he cleaned his crossbow. When it was well oiled, he looked through his bag for something else to do. He inspected all the arrows in his quiver. Most of them were brand new. There was nothing wrong with any of them. Restless, his eyes darted around the room. It seemed to Daryl that the walls had moved a little closer together. He started pacing. He didn't know what to do with himself.

Unable to tolerate another moment inside, he opened the door and went out to inspect the tarps. They were still in place and allowing the water to fall off on one side. Stirring the coals in the fire, he added a log and checked on the progress of the jerky.

Daryl heard laughter coming from Carol and T-Dog's room. He wondered what was so entertaining about being trapped in a concrete block. Before his mind had a chance to conjure up any ideas, Rick came out of his unit and joined Daryl by the fire. Daryl actually felt relieved to have the company.

Rick sat quietly for a few minutes collecting his thoughts. "We need to find another truck," he said after a while, still staring into the fire. "Something sturdy to keep supplies in. Maybe even carry the bike if necessary. " He turned to look at Daryl. "Listen, I know how much it means to you, but a lot can happen in weather like this. I appreciate everything you do for us. You're important to this group, Daryl. We need you to be safe."

The praise and caring for his well-being still felt awkward to Daryl, but he knew Rick was being sincere. "Shit, reckon I ain't gonna mind stayin' dry," he admitted shyly.

Rick smiled a little in relief that Daryl was being reasonable. "Didn't think you would."

"I can go for the truck when this lets up," he said, referring the downpour. "I'll take Carol."

Her name had escaped his lips before he realized what he was proposing. Daryl's stomach started twisting in knots. He was impressed that Carol had handled herself, on her own no less, with the single walker she encountered near the creek. And he wanted to see her in action to see how well she'd handle the stress of other conditions. It was a simple enough run. It would be good for her. But he had just spent the entire afternoon in the woods trying not to think about her, and in two seconds, the frustration he felt about his entire day came flooding back. He held back the groan that nearly sprang from his throat and chewed at the inside of his lip as he wrestled with his ambivalence.

Rick tilted his head in surprise. "You think she's ready?" The doubt squeezed into the space between his eyebrows. "I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "She couldn't shoot a non-moving target today."

"She's ready," Daryl shot out defensively. He thought that Rick was underestimating her and it rubbed him the wrong way. Guns were only a last resort anyway. Daryl had been training her, he knew what she could do. Logically, he knew this was the next step; she needed to try. Moreover, he wanted to be the one to help her do it. That notion in itself seemed troublesome to him as it snaked through his belly, but he wasn't going to back down now. "Besides, it'll be easier to keep an eye on her if it's just the two of us."

Rick conceded. He looked around their camp. This was not a way to spend the winter the way he saw it. They needed a house with a proper roof and a fireplace. Some place to hole up for awhile.

* * *

><p>Daryl had pulled off the road after Carol continued to voice her doubts about the run. The cab of the truck suddenly felt too small. He was frustrated and riddled with tension, and he needed to get out before he said something he would regret. He wasn't sure how he had let her down, but she had lost her trust in him. Even worse, she had lost confidence in herself. And it made him angry and confused.<p>

Looking out across the empty field, he breathed deeply. The view was expansive. Just being outside in the quiet, fresh air helped to deflate some of the pressure Daryl had felt building up inside.

After a few minutes, Carol slipped out of the truck and slowly approached Daryl. She shouldn't have agreed to go, she realized that now. She would just be a liability.

Initially, she had been excited about the opportunity to go on a run when Daryl had found her first thing in the morning and asked her to go with him. He told her he thought she was ready for the next phase in her training. But she grew more reluctant after she had spoken to Rick who, although he had agreed let her go, expressed his concern about her lack of preparation and suggested she postpone going out until she'd had more target practice.

"Lots of things can go wrong," he had cautioned her.

"I don't know if I can do this, Daryl. Rick's right, I'm not any good at this." Carol crumpled. Her eyes glumly fell to her muddy boots.

_Rick._ Daryl wondered when she had started trusting that man again. He didn't like the look on her face. It pulled at him and made something in his chest tumble into his gut. He was pissed at Rick for making her doubt herself. He had to fix this.

"Hey." He tenderly hooked his fingers around her chin and made her look at him. "You're gonna be just fine," he barked just a little too aggressively. Cringing at his tone, he began to chew on the inside of his lip, trying to hold back the angst that was mounting once again in his chest. He couldn't fuck this up and make her more afraid.

She looked back at him and nodded her head, but he could still see the hesitation dulling her eyes. _Fuck!_ It agitated him. The pressure in his chest intensified. He looked away, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, his eyes caught on something shining in the weeds. When he recognized what it was, he turned abruptly and went to grab the shotgun out of the cab of the truck. Upon returning, he stopped in front of the weeds and reached down to pick up the empty beer can that had been long ago discarded. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

"C'mere," he glowered as he seized her hand and made her follow him, hurriedly, across the field to the fence. He pulled the can out of his pocket and placed it grimly on the post.

Then he turned around and towed her another twenty paces away. "Here," he insisted, pressing the gun into her hands. Determined, he put his hands on her shoulders and directed her towards the target.

"Go ahead," he said expectantly, waving his hands at her. "Show me what you can do."

Carol grew nervous as Daryl narrowed his eyes at her and waited with his arms akimbo. Hesitantly, she drew the gun to her shoulder and took aim.

"Stop," Daryl commanded, holding up one hand.

She started to lower the gun until he reached out and put his fingers underneath the barrel to stop her.

"Keep it up," he directed her. His eyes steadfastly bore into hers.

It was cold outside, but Carol felt her neck grow warm as Daryl stood there challenging her. She swallowed the lump of fear that had risen in her throat and returned the gun to her shoulder.

"Step back a little with your right leg," he instructed.

Her torso shifted as she stepped her foot back. The gun immediately felt different to Carol, more manageable. She let out a breath as she gazed at the target.

He touched the back of her head lightly. "Lower your head."

Tiny shivers ran down her neck the moment he made contact with her. He'd never stood this close to her while he scrutinized her. Trembling slightly, she moved her head closer to the gun but her eyes wandered apprehensively to where he was standing.

"Keep your eyes on the target," he reminded her sharply.

Her eyes snapped back to the can at the end of the barrel. Recalling yesterday's ordeal, her body stiffened with the anticipation of failure. The perspiration rolled down her neck as she felt her heart hammering in her ears. Her fingers tightened around the gun.

"Relax," he told her in a soothing manner, reading her easily. "Ain't no need to worry. You got this."

He waited until he saw that her body had softened a little.

"Let your breath come out real slow before you pull the trigger," he continued to guide her.

Carol exhaled gradually, keeping her eyes fixed on the target. She felt her fear receding as she did so. When the last of her breath was released, she pulled the trigger before she lost her nerve. The can violently flew off the post. Her eyes widened. Releasing the gun from her shoulder, she stared incredulously at the empty spot where the can had been.

"See," Daryl said smugly. "Like I said."

Carol's eyes were still wide as she turned to him. "I hit it," she said in amazement. A slow smile began to transform her face. She nearly laughed at herself for her worry.

"Course you did!" he exclaimed. The relief expanded in his chest as Carol's eyes brightened. "Don't know what the hell Rick was tellin' ya. But don't listen to 'im. You can do this."

What the hell had Rick said to her? She couldn't remember exactly, but she knew she hadn't felt very capable. It was Daryl who bolstered her confidence. He believed in her. Without thinking, she turned and gave him a hug.

"Thank you," she said, squeezing him in delight.

Surprised, he jumped as her arms wrapped around him. His body went reflexively rigid while the scent of her drifted upwards, ensnaring him. Temporarily paralyzed, his throat became dry as the heat of her seeped into his body.

When Carol realized that she had stepped into Daryl's personal space, she quickly let him go. She tried not to make a big deal about it.

Almost as quickly as they had wrapped around him, her arms were suddenly gone. Daryl felt a chill where her body had been, but his face burned red hot. Finding his feet again, he awkwardly shifted his weight back and forth, unsure where exactly to move them. He coughed trying to expel the feeling of her pressed against him. "Hell, I ain't done nothin'," he forced the words out. He couldn't look at her.

Carol smiled as she watched Daryl struggle in his uneasiness. It was endearing and almost comical, and she had to press her lips together to suppress her mirth. The fact that he hadn't pushed her away when she hugged him hadn't escaped her. He hadn't run. He hadn't lashed out. They were making progress.

"Well," she drawled. "I couldn't have done it without you."


	8. Good Company

**Chapter 8: Good Company**

Daryl couldn't recall having a better day since the world had turned to shit. He was hard pressed to even summon one at all that didn't involve him being shit-faced drunk. He'd never really done anything with his life. He'd never gone anywhere. He'd just followed Merle around like a two-bit lap dog, getting drunk, and aimlessly hanging out with Merle's tweaker friends between lousy, dead end jobs. There had never been much in his life to enjoy.

There was a feeling of spacious contentment growing within Daryl's chest. He found himself enjoying driving the truck around. He liked driving Merle's bike, with the feel of the wind and all the open space surrounding him, and the privacy it pretty much ensured him most of the time while they traveled. But he had forgotten how much he missed his truck. It was a beat up piece of shit, but it had been his, bought and paid for. It was one of the few things he ever owned outright. He was sad when it broke down a few hours after they'd left the CDC and he had to leave it behind.

The sky was overcast, but inside the cab, it felt like blue skies to Daryl. He was feeling more at peace since Carol stopped worrying about the run. Even with the few disappointments they'd encountered along the way, Daryl thought it was a good day. He liked that it was just the two of them driving around back-country Georgia. The openness of the road held more appeal for him than being cooped up in a box. And Carol was good company, just like she had been on the Triumph.

Lured by her silence, Daryl watched Carol as she gazed out the window at the passing scenery. She looked the most relaxed he'd seen her since that night they'd all gotten drunk at the CDC thinking they had found refuge from hell. But it had actually been no more than a pit stop on the mouth of hell itself. They had all been trapped inside that building, facing complete annihilation. With only minutes to spare, Carol had saved them all, dutifully plucking that grenade out of her purse like Little Suzy Heroine. She was resourceful, and he learned then that he could never underestimate her.

As if she'd felt him staring at her, Carol turned her head to meet Daryl's eyes and gleamed. Her cheerful smile was so infectious that Daryl couldn't help but return a modest grin. Carol giggled in response and her entire face grew vibrant and carefree. A youthful pink glow appeared on her cheeks as the magical sparkle in her eyes enchanted Daryl. Briefly forgetting himself, he chuckled casually at the absurd levity of the moment. He turned his eyes back to the empty road feeling like he had swallowed the infinite sky as a strange sense of easy lightness floated inside him.

They had driven a little farther than they anticipated, but neither of them was complaining about the road trip. By chance, they came across a park that was beginning to get overgrown. Not too far from the entrance, they discovered a maintenance yard. It was a small area, but it was fenced in and appeared secure—quite possibly abandoned from the look of it.

They circled around the park maintenance lot a few times before they agreed to go in. There were a few large buildings that looked a little more inviting than the cramped storage units where they were currently staying. Both Daryl and Carol thought they should check it out as a possible new location for their group. There were several green service trucks parked in the lot. It seemed promising after determining the few trucks that they'd already come across had been in worse shape than the rusted blue Ford they were currently driving.

"It could be a safe place for Lori to have the baby," Carol said enthusiastically, thinking of its potential.

"S'possible," Daryl replied. "Before you go gettin' all excited, we gotta check it out first."

They parked away from the entrance, got their gear out, and made their way to the fence. Peering through it, they couldn't see much from their position. Carol followed a few paces behind Daryl mimicking the way he crept along the outside of the fence. She scanned the area behind him as they moved just like he told her to do.

There weren't any people or walkers in the yard from what Daryl could tell, but he couldn't see into any of the buildings. It was looking pretty good. The small garage looked deserted. There were several large trucks lined up along the fence, all with maintenance beds. A few had tool bins along the inside of the truck bed that he thought might have some tools they could use, or in the very least, help keep some of their gear dry.

He crouched down behind some equipment that was on the other side of the fence. Carol did the same but rested her back against the fence and looked out into the brush.

"We gotta get in there and check out those buildings first. Make sure they're clear before we inspect those trucks," he instructed her in a low voice.

As Carol acknowledged Daryl with a nod, she thought she saw movement in the bushes. She squinted as she tried to focus.

Daryl saw the subtle change on her face. "What is it?" he asked her.

"There's something out there," she said. "Can't tell exactly."

Daryl turned around and followed her gaze. "How far?

"Maybe fifty yards? In those shrubs."

Sure enough, Daryl saw something flickering among the brush, but it was too dense to determine what it was. "Nice spottin'," he praised her. "Though we may not need to worry too much about 'em if we can get over the fence quick enough. Best keep the noise to a minimum."

Carol nodded in agreement.

He turned back towards the maintenance lot and scanned it once again. "I'll go over first. See if I can see any better from up there. You up for some climbin'?"

She smiled. "Sure."

He gave her a nod and then crept away a few more feet before he quickly clambered up the fence. The fence wobbled and clanged softly as he stepped on the chain links. He paused briefly at the top as he deftly swung himself over the top and looked out into the brush. There were nearly a dozen walkers milling about. There may have been more but he couldn't see behind the trees. He climbed down quickly and looked around him before he signaled to Carol.

When she saw Daryl motioning for her to follow, she crept along the fence to where he was squatting on the other side of it.

"Walkers," he warned her. "At least a dozen. Maybe more. But they aren't really movin' in this direction. C'mon over."

Carol's heart beat a little faster with the confirmation of the walkers. She secured the shotgun across her shoulder and then scrambled up the fence. She was less adept at climbing than Daryl, but it didn't stop her. When she finally got to the top, she awkwardly slung one leg over and then the other. Her pant leg got caught on the links at the top of the fence and she tore a hole in the hem as she pulled her leg trying to free it. As she paused to unhook herself from the fence, she glanced over at the walkers that hadn't yet noticed them, and then made her way down.

Daryl was crouched low behind the front tire of a maintenance truck. Carol made her way over to him.

"Get your knife ready," he told her. "We'll check on this one here first."

He pointed to the building next to them.

"When we go in, it's back to back or keep to my left. You got it?" He looked at her, making sure she understood.

Carol's heart was still beating fast from the climb over the fence. She nodded. "Back to back or on your left," she responded.

"Okay, c'mon."

Carol followed Daryl up to the window. He peered inside. There was nothing in the big lobby in front but there was a dark hallway leading through the building. It wasn't a surprise when he tried the door and found it was locked. Accordingly, Daryl pulled out the lock picking tools from his pocket, and with some effort found the right torque and pressure to unlock the door.

"Gonna need a flashlight," he told her as he pulled one from his jacket pocket after putting the tools away.

Carol awkwardly shifted the gun and the backpack she was wearing onto one shoulder. She unzipped the smaller pouch and pulled out the Maglite that was in there. After Carol had the pack and gun secured again she nodded at him that she was ready to go in.

The door creaked softly as Daryl opened it slowly. He stepped inside and immediately moved off to the right. Carol entered behind him, staying to his left. The room had a stale, musty odor to it. She turned her flashlight on and followed Daryl down the hall.

Halfway down there were two doors on opposite sides of the hallway. The doors were open. Silently, Daryl signaled to Carol that he would check the room to the right and she should check the room on the left.

Carol shined the flashlight as she looked around the corner of the doorway into the small office. She didn't see anything, so she stepped inside. The light of the flashlight fell upon two desks with dusty computers sitting on them and piles of paper neatly stacked next to them. On the wall was a box with a couple dozen hooks with keys hanging from them. Carol picked up one of the pieces of paper and realized they were service records for the trucks outside. She went over to the key box and picked up a key marked "#16."

She put the paper back on the desk and went into the hallway just as Daryl was returning. Silently, she held up the key to show him what she found and he nodded back to her. She stuck the key in the pocket of her pants as they continued down the hallway. They came across a pair of bathrooms and a utility closet that were also empty. There were three more rooms at the end of the hallway.

Again, Carol took the room on the left. This time, she just shined the light inside the empty room, but didn't enter it. It was another office with a single desk and a few chairs. This one had a couple of first aid kits hanging on the wall.

The room at the end of the hallway had a double door. They opened them at the same time and found a large empty breakroom. There were a couple of vending machines along one wall and a half-dozen unopened five-gallon water bottles.

"We can come back for this stuff later," Daryl stated as he looked around. "Let's go check out that other building first."

The other structure was built like a warehouse. It was a long rectangular shape with a large sliding metal door that was latched with a padlock.

"Can you hand me that bolt cutter?" Daryl asked her.

Carol pulled it out of the top of her pack and handed it to him. Squeezing it over the lock, he snapped it, pulling it free before he tossed it to the ground. He handed the bolt cutter back to her and waited for her to put it away before he slid the door open.

The door rumbled and rattled noisily as it opened. They shined their flashlights inside. It was full of gardening and landscaping equipment. There was an opened door in the back which led to a greenhouse. When they went back there, they discovered that the plants were all dead.

"Well, that's a shame," Carol said as she inspected the plants.

Daryl grunted.

"With a little TLC, this place could be downright homey," she beamed at him.

He nodded at her. It was somewhat secure, but there was no immediate source of water. Daryl wasn't sure the office building would be much more comfortable than the storage units they were in now. But Carol was excited at the prospect and he didn't want to disappoint her. They would tell Rick about this place and let him make the decision.

Turning to head back outside, he said, "Let's find a truck and load it up."

Daryl browsed the selection of trucks available parked along the fence. Carol told him about the service records she found inside and wondered if they'd help them determine which of them had been most recently serviced or if any repairs might be required. It sounded like a good idea to Daryl, so they headed back into the office building. In the end, they decided on a truck with an aluminum tool box straddling the rear of the truck bed and a rear-hinged dump insert. It was key #13.

"I hope you're not superstitious," Carol teased as she took the key off the hook.

"Pfft," Daryl dismissed the idea.

When they broke open the vending machines, Carol swore that Daryl was enjoying himself while he smashed them up. There was a touch of something boyishly mischievous alight in his face. She couldn't help but grin as she watched him.

When Daryl noticed her grinning at him, he froze. "What?" he inquired bearishly.

"You're cute when you're in your zone," she joked.

"Ain't nothin' cute about me," he scowled and averted his eyes.

"You seem awfully enthralled in destroying the hell outta that thing," she quipped. "Admit it, Daryl, you're having fun."

He studied her face and saw the impish glint in her eye, goading him. Damned if he was.

"So what if I was?" He was still guarded, but Carol could tell Daryl was letting the walls down a little.

"It's okay. You're allowed to," she encouraged him with jovial grin. She wanted him to know that whatever he was feeling was perfectly acceptable.

She reached for the fence pole he was holding in his hand. "May I?" Her eyes were playful as she beseeched him.

He released the pole from his grip and watched her swing it into the side of the machine. Shards of plastic exploded around them with a loud crash. She took another couple of swings and then stood there smugly, admiring her handiwork.

"Yes, clearly satisfying," she smirked as she handed Daryl back the post. "I can see why you like it." Her eyes danced devilishly as she grinned.

He stood there in shock with his mouth agape, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Nonchalantly, Carol started gathering the snacks and drinks into her bag. It took a few seconds before Daryl's brain finally came back online.

"What the hell was that?" he croaked. His eyes narrowed down to slits as he regarded her with curiosity.

"What?" she asked innocently. When she saw the serious look on Daryl's face, she couldn't help herself but continue to tease him. "Why should you get to have all the fun?" The corners of her mouth radiated upwards.

Daryl was tense as he stood there, trying to understand what was happening. But the moment she smiled at him, something hard inside his chest softened a little. He relaxed, finally grasping that she was joking around.

"I don't like to share," he pushed back.

"Well, you should start. Sharing means caring, Daryl," she winked. The sparkle in her eye was glowing fiendishly.

"Stop," he said and went to remove the first aid kits from the wall in the other room.

* * *

><p>"Suppose we could have come right in the front door," Carol remarked as Daryl used the bolt cutter to snap the lock on the chain that was wrapped around the fence gate as they were preparing to leave.<p>

"Where's the fun in that?" Daryl teased her, removing the chain, but leaving the gate closed. After their success, he was feeling more relaxed. It showed on his face as he turned towards her and his steel-blue eyes flashed with a roguish glint that lent him a more youthful appearance. He gave the chain a smug toss and it landed with a confident jingle several yards away from the gate.

Carol giggled, appreciating his dry sense of humor, and she delicately elbowed him between the ribs as they walked towards the truck. It was a sign that he was in a good mood.

They had everything loaded inside the truck bed. Daryl found a few tools he thought might come in handy and put them in the toolbox. While he was loading them into the truck, he noticed a gas pump by a small shed near the office building.

"Looks like we might get to fill up before we leave," he told Carol, nodding in the direction of the pump. "I'll go check it out. Start 'er up and meet me over there?"

"Okay," she agreed and climbed into the cab.

Daryl was inspecting the pump when she pulled up alongside it and switched off the engine. She reached down and pulled the release valve to open the fuel door.

"It's got one of those security systems on it," he notified her as she exited the truck and walked over to him. "Needs an access card to let the gas flow. Didn't see any inside, did you?"

"I don't recall seeing any," she told him. "I'll check the glove box."

She walked over to the passenger door and opened it. The glove box was empty. She climbed up into the cab again and searched the visors.

"There's nothing in here either," she called out. "I can go back inside and check." She stepped down from the truck.

"Don't bother," Daryl said to stop her. "Gonna try to hotwire it."

He unhooked the gas handle from the pump and inserted it into the car. "C'mere and hold the lever, will ya?"

Carol moved to hold the lever while Daryl broke open the panel box on the pump. When he removed the cover, there were a bunch of wires inside. He wasn't sure what he was looking at, but he had some rudimentary experience in electrical wiring on a construction job he once worked.

He crossed a couple of wires on the circuit board. "Anything?" he asked her.

"Not yet," she reported.

He tried another pairing, holding the wires carefully in place.

"Oh," Carol said, startled. "Something's happening!" Her voice took on an excited tone. She smiled as the gas came out.

Daryl grinned, pleased with himself, as the tank filled. When it was full the lever clicked off. Still holding the box, Daryl motioned with his head towards the red gas can sitting on the ground among the weeds next to the building.

"Might as well fill that, too, while we're at it," he indicated.

"Good call," she agreed.

She retrieved the can and untwisted the lid. After sticking the nozzle in the top, she pulled the lever again. Unexpectedly, the hose ruptured from the nozzle, spraying gas everywhere. The hose began to flail, drenching them with gasoline, and forming a large puddle around them.

"Shit!" Daryl cried as he watched the eruption. He tried desperately to uncross the wires when suddenly, sparks shot out of the control box.

"Oh, shit!" he cursed again as the box started arcing, sending sparks everywhere. "Get in the truck! Get outta here!"

She hesitated for Daryl. Her eyes were desperate and afraid, she didn't want to leave him stranded.

"I said get the hell out!" he yelled at her when she didn't move. "If I let this box go, it's gonna explode!"

Still worried, Carol bit her lip, but did as Daryl told her. She ran to the driver's seat and started the truck. Immediately, she shifted into gear and hit the accelerator with a lead foot, driving right through the gate. The fence door flew off its hinges.

"Fuck!" Daryl waited until the truck was out of sight and then dropped the box as far from the puddle of gas as he could. After that, he ran like hell.

As it hit the ground, sparks arced out of the box into the large puddle, instantly igniting the gasoline. A few seconds later, the pump exploded, ripping out part of the fence and the wall of the office building, setting it ablaze. The impact of the explosion blew Daryl to the ground. He felt something hot slice through the back of his leg.

The explosion attracted the nearby walkers who made their way to the gaping hole in the fence. Stunned, it took Daryl a moment to understand what was happening. He sat up feeling the searing pain in his calf. The flames were hypnotic, perpetuating his daze. The smell of gasoline burned in his nose. He heard the sound of something thumping in his ears. Then, he saw the rotten corpses staggering towards him. It felt like he was watching a horror movie on one of those large, flat screen TVs he had seen at Merle's dealer's house. This couldn't really be happening. Instantly, the stench hit him. It smelled rank, like a large bonfire that someone had shoved a rotting carcass on to barbeque. All at once, Daryl became aware that this wasn't a movie. It was much worse: this was his ghastly reality.

Coming to his senses, he shot the walker with the crossbow that was tottering about ten feet in front of him. He was loading the second arrow when Carol drove the truck up. It lurched to a halt as she leapt out the truck, readying her knife immediately. She ran to where Daryl was scrambling to stand up. She stabbed the second walker through the eye socket as it was lunging for Daryl and pushed it aside.

"Are you alright?" she worried as she leaned over to help him up, trying not to gag from the noxious odors that were swarming around them.

"I'm fine," he assured her, pushing away the moment he was upright to shoot the second bolt. "C'mon. Let's get outta here before more of 'em come." Limping over to where the walkers had fallen, he snatched up his arrows out of their skulls. He slammed his crossbow into another walker as it approached, knocking it over.

They dashed to the truck and entered quickly as the walkers advanced on them. As Carol drove away, Daryl looked back at the wreckage. Through the smoke, he saw them. Dozens of walkers, drawn by the blast and the flickering flames, were stumbling through the inferno. It was supposed to be a simple run and he'd gone and fucked it up. He watched their newfound hope burn up in flames.

* * *

><p>Carol had driven them to safety a few miles away before she stopped the truck and turned off the engine. "Let me get a look at that leg, Daryl."<p>

"It's fine," he said gruffly. His mood had soured, the walls were back up.

"Well, I'm gonna take a look at it anyway," she asserted, smiling at him sternly. The worry creased at the corners of her eyes.

He sighed, realizing there was no point in arguing with her. She had her mind set on it. He needed to pick his battles more carefully.

"Fine," he capitulated huskily.

She exited the truck, walked over to the passenger side, and opened the door. The lower part of his pant leg was covered in blood. She looked up at him, seeking his permission before she lifted it up to inspect the wound. There was a piece of metal embedded in the muscle.

"There's something there. I don't want to pull it out yet. We're gonna have to have Hershel take a look at it when we get back." Her eyes were darker and full of concern.

"I fucked it up," he grumbled to her apologetically.

"No, you didn't." Her voice soft, but certain as she sought to allay his guilt. "Sometimes things just go wrong."

He held her gaze warily, without faltering, until he sensed her sincerity. It was clear she wasn't blaming him in the least, but he felt he had let her down all the same.

"We needed that place."

The pain in his voice pierced her heart. "So, we'll find another," she promised him, looking at him with nothing but reverence. She wouldn't let him take responsibility for what had happened.

Rolling up his pant leg, Carol began to clean the wound on Daryl's leg as best she could. She stabilized the shard with some gauze. Then she tore off the ripped hem from her pants and wrapped the material tightly around the wound.

Daryl watched her tend to his leg like a war nurse. She was gentle and unhurried, all the while covered in a revolting mixture of sweat, gasoline, and walker goo. Yet, she was wholly unfazed as she cared for him. This was same woman who only hours ago believed herself to be utterly incompetent, and here she was, radiating complete composure. She was amazing. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"What?" she asked as she caught him staring.

"You're quite a sight," Daryl remarked lightly.

She inspected herself, fully realizing the state she was in, and then she glanced back at Daryl who was now smirking at her. "Daryl Dixon, are you flirting with me?" she teased.

Daryl ruffled and grew flustered. "Pfft," he said dismissively, turning away before she could see the hue of his cheeks burn red.

Maybe he was.


	9. Blue

**AN:** Your reviews and comments are so lovely. Thank you for feeding me encouragement! I'm so glad you are liking the story. Daryl and Carol are taking me on a journey. I love writing for them. I will update as life and the muse will allow. I hope you stick around!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: Blue<strong>

When they got back to the storage units, Carol immediately went to find Hershel to have him look at Daryl's injured leg before Daryl could have a chance to protest. Beth and Maggie brought supplies and a bucket of water into his room before quickly retreating.

Carol observed closely as Hershel removed the metal shard from Daryl's leg, stopped the bleeding, and cleaned the wound. He may have been a veterinarian, but Hershel was the only one of them with any medical training. He had saved Carl's life. While Carol had picked up a few things from her life with Ed out of necessity, she knew it wasn't enough. It was important for her to learn more than just fighting skills to help her survive. There was no guarantee that any of them would stay alive with the way the world was now. Every bit of knowledge helped, so she stayed there to assist him.

"You're going to need a few stitches," Hershel informed Daryl. "And we don't have any anesthetic to numb the pain."

"S'fine," Daryl growled impatiently. He hated the fuss they were making over him. "Jus' get on with it."

Hershel searched through the supplies they had. "Carol, is there any alcohol left?"

"Just the swabs in the kits we grabbed," she replied nervously.

"No, it has to penetrate the wound."

Carol turned to leave. "I'll go with one of the others to get some."

"No," Daryl argued, grabbing her lightly by the wrist to stop her. She had shown herself to be quite capable, but he didn't like the idea of her going out again, and certainly not for his sake.

She turned back and saw the concern looming darkly in his eyes. "Check the bike," he told her reluctantly. "There's some in the bag."

She nodded and he let go of her, watching as she walked away. A few minutes later she reappeared with the pint of whiskey. It was now half full.

"Have you been drinking and driving?" she teased, giving him a small disapproving pout.

"Ain't like that," he said defensively. He had indeed thought about drowning the bottle on a couple of occasions, but never did. The last thing he wanted was to be drunk if shit hit the fan. Still, he felt he owed her an explanation. "Only thing that gets rid of the taste o' gas."

Hershel took the bottle from Carol and poured a small amount onto Daryl's wound. Daryl hissed at the sting.

"I'm sure I don't have to remind you," Hershel stated plainly, "that this is going to hurt like hell. But try not to move."

He handed Daryl back the whiskey bottle. Daryl grimaced while Hershel stitched him up. He considered taking a swig or two, but thought better of it.

"Try not to get this wet for at least a day or two," Hershel advised Daryl when he had finished. "I'm also supposed to tell you to stay off your leg and keep it elevated to reduce the swelling. But I also know you're as stubborn as a mule, so just take it easy." He gave Daryl a warm, easy smile as he pat him on the shoulder.

Carol snorted a laugh as Hershel gathered up the medical supplies and left. Daryl glared at her, so she bit her lip and cleared her throat.

"Sorry. I'll let you get cleaned up. I'm due for a bath myself." She turned to leave.

"Hey," he called to her softly.

Carol paused in the doorway and glanced at him.

"You did good today," he commended her.

She flashed him a grateful smile and left without a word. She went to her unit to get a change of clothes and then headed down to the creek to clean herself up.

* * *

><p>"Walkers!" Glenn suddenly shouted, alerting the group. "Walkers!"<p>

"Where? How many?" Rick came running as Glenn was coming down off the roof.

"From the west. About a quarter mile. They just came out of the fog. At least fifty of them."

Rick turned to address T-Dog, Beth, and Hershel who had started to gather. "Take what you can and head for the cars."

Daryl came out of his unit dressed in a fresh shirt. His bag and crossbow were hanging from each shoulder. "What's the plan?" he asked Rick as he started gathering up the dried deer jerky and stuffing it into a bag.

"They're coming from the west. That only gives us one choice," Rick stated as he turned to help Lori and Carl quickly gather supplies.

Daryl stopped T-Dog on his way to the truck, loaded with an armful of supplies. "Carol come back from the creek yet?"

"Aw, shit. No," T responded with a mix of concern and frustration in his voice. "I told her not to go down there alone!"

"Damn it!" Daryl swore irately, practically tearing out his hair as he ran his free hand through it.

There was no time to waste. He had to find her quickly.

"I'll go get her. Here," Daryl said, quickly passing T-Dog the jerky. "Might be all we get for dinner. Grab her bag! We'll catch up."

Completely forgetting his fresh stitches, Daryl turned and ran across the field calling her name.

Carol lifted her clean head out of the water, tilting it to the side. She thought she had heard someone screaming. When she realized she had left her knife on the rock with her clothes, she promptly climbed out of the creek. Continuing to listen intently, she scrambled to put on her clean pants and socks and stuffed her feet hastily into her boots. She slid her knife back in her pocket.

"Carol!" She distinctly heard Daryl's desperate voice. Something was wrong.

"Daryl!" she answered back loudly. She wanted him to hear her and know she was okay. Her fingers fumbled anxiously as she tried to get her shirt on. It was only then that she heard the walkers approaching.

Looking up, she saw a half-dozen walkers stumbling towards her. She froze. Her mind flashed intrusively to Sophia—her helpless Sophia—who had been left, alone and scared, in a creek. Carol recalled the look of pure terror in the girl's eyes right before she ran screaming down the embankment. The grief stabbed her in the belly like a fatal blow and her breath left her painfully.

"Carol!" Daryl's voice rang out from the top of the hill like an alarm.

His voice pulled her back into her body with a gasp. As she faced the threatening reality of the moment, her fear slipped in wet trails down her neck and body and clung damply to the waistband of her pants. "Daryl, there's walkers!" she warned him. Finally remembering her shirt, she quickly pulled it over her head.

"I know, c'mon! We gotta go!" he hollered.

Daryl watched her clamber up the hill. When she got close to the top he reached for her hand to help her up the rest of the way. "C'mon!" he urgently shouted as he yanked her up. "What the hell you doin' down here alone!" His dismay had hardened on his face in angry lines. He was infuriated by her carelessness.

There was no time for her to answer as they took off running across the field. The horde was closing in on the lot. When they saw Daryl and Carol, several of them broke off and were quickly stumbling towards them. Carol was starting to lag behind. The others were already in the cars and pulling away from the lot. It was clear they were not going to make it to the bike in time.

Rick called out to Daryl from the Suburban. "We'll try to draw them away! Meet up at that gas station on 27!"

Rick started to honk the horn, drawing the attention of the walkers as they drove away. Daryl turned and headed between the units. He signaled Carol to follow him, which she did. Weaving between the buildings, they crept up behind the office building. Both were breathing hard when they stopped for a moment and leaned their backs against the building to rest. They could hear the sound of the walkers moaning and shuffling past on the road, chasing the honking of the car horn.

"Stay here," Daryl panted angrily. His stormy eyes drilled into her, pinning her in place.

Carol knew he was annoyed with her and he had every right to be. She had been so foolish to go off on her own. He had stayed behind to retrieve her while the others had been forced to leave, and now they were trapped. A chill slithered down her spine as water from her wet head dripped down her neck. She hadn't even had enough sense to grab a sweater!

Agreeing, Carol nodded as Daryl snuck over to the ladder that was still resting against the unit building. He picked it up and carefully placed it against the side of the office building.

"I'm gonna take a peek," he told her, keeping his voice quiet.

Hardly making a sound, Daryl climbed up the ladder, staying low as he navigated the rooftop. When he got to the edge, he peered out. Most of the walkers had followed the cars down the road, but there were still a little more than a dozen near the edge of the field and in the parking lot. Daryl counted his bolts. _Nine._

"Shit," he said to himself.

Had he been with T-Dog or Rick or Glenn, he would have picked off what he could with the crossbow and taken the rest by hand without a second thought. But he didn't want to risk it with Carol, not that he thought she couldn't fight, but because he was more concerned about her safety. The risk was unnecessary; he was being cautious for her sake. This was a foreign thought to him, he realized, and it made him even more frustrated with their situation. He became antsy.

Without delay, he climbed back down to Carol, scowling. "There's still too many. Only got nine arrows. Need another distraction that won't bring the rest back."

"Should we wait them out? Maybe they'll leave on their own."

"That'll take too long," he said impatiently. "Ain't no guarantee they'll go neither."

It would be safer to wait. But Daryl worried that if they didn't catch up soon, Rick would give up and figure them lost. He didn't want to be left behind. _Like Merle. Like Andrea._

"We don't know how long Rick an' them'll wait before they cut their losses. We gotta drive the long way 'round as it is."

It was late in the afternoon. Carol didn't think that the others would leave the safety of the gas station tonight if they didn't have to. She doubted that they would even contemplate leaving Daryl behind. Rick relied heavily on him. Daryl had become too important. But she was not going to dispute him after what he'd done for her. She knew she was to blame for getting them into this situation and she desperately wanted to help get them out of it. Full of remorse, she chewed on her lip as she considered a plan. Staring down the row of buildings to the patio table at the end, she got a flash of inspiration.

"We can draw them away from the bike. Rattle the doors. Set fire to the table," Carol suggested, pointing towards it.

Daryl mulled over her idea. His eyes lightened slightly as he concluded it was a good plan. "I'll do it. You wait up on the roof," he told her sternly. "We can sneak down the other side."

Carol didn't argue. She felt guilty enough for putting Daryl in this predicament. It tumbled around like a rock in her stomach as she worried about him. As quietly as she could, she crept up to the roof and waited for him, crouched at the far edge. A few minutes later, she heard Daryl banging loudly on the unit doors. She watched the walkers in the lot as they moved off towards the source of the clatter. Shortly afterward, Daryl scaled the roof and swiftly drew up the ladder. Carol held up her hand to him to urge caution. After the last of the walkers disappeared around the corner, she waved him over.

Once he was at the edge of the roof, Daryl lowered the ladder down quietly and set it against the front of the building. Without missing a beat, he scurried down and held it steady for Carol as she descended. They hurried to the bike and Daryl fixed his crossbow to the back of it. She climbed on immediately afterward. As soon as the bike roared to life, the walkers turned back around towards them. Daryl kicked up the stand and plopped back onto the seat, and with Carol clinging to him, he quickly steered the bike out of the lot and raced away.

They cruised for a good half hour before they finally hit the turnoff for the county road. He could feel Carol shivering behind him and he couldn't take it anymore. He pulled over and turned off the bike, roughly sliding out of the seat to glare at her. She followed mechanically when he moved, stretching her stiff legs. A darkness had set into her features during the drive. When he saw how blue her lips were, all the remaining anger he felt towards her evaporated.

"Jesus," he gasped in horror.

He pulled out his poncho and handed it to her. "Here, put this on."

She complied appreciatively, but her eyes remained vacant. His fingers grazed her icy ones as she reached for it sending chills up his arm. "Shit, you're freezin'." His eyebrows knitted together with concern.

He watched as she pulled the poncho over her head and rubbed her arms to warm herself. The mere sight of her tugged at the tough band around his heart and made him ache. He wrestled with himself as he watched her suffer until he couldn't stand it any longer. Cautiously, he drew her closer. "C'mere," he said gently as he enfolded her in his warmth.

Carol felt numb. Caught in a daze of brooding thoughts, she hadn't quite realized how cold she had become. The guilt had spread heavily into every crevice of her mind during the trip. She had placed them both at risk with her carelessness. Somewhat disoriented, she stiffened as she felt Daryl's awkward arms suddenly enclose her.

The fresh scent of her penetrated him and oozed through all the chinks in his armor. The effect was synchronous; it both soothed and triggered him. Opposing internal forces began to spin and twist within him producing a disturbing current of pressure in his body. The speed of his heartbeat quickened to an uncomfortable rhythm as he felt the heat of her proximity burning through his skin. Diverting his attention from his discomfort, he began to vigorously rub his hands up and down her back and arms.

She wasn't sure what to think as the friction from Daryl's movement gradually thawed her. Carol was grateful for the heat as she felt her flesh grow warmer, but with it also came the agony. Coiled deep within, a confined need for comfort lay aching in her core. It was where that painful affliction lived, her loss, which was never alleviated and was always threatening to obliterate her precarious resolve. For the briefest of moments, she allowed herself to breathe in the musky security of Daryl's presence. Unconsciously, she relaxed into his protective embrace as she felt the imminence of a painful sob looming in her chest.

Daryl felt her respond pliantly to his touch. As she sank into him his blood thrummed in his ears more intensely. From the base of his spine, a sinuous current began to surge upwards. He felt a tidal wave of sensation forcefully churning within, flooding him with a heated chaos. His throat tightened as all the nerve endings in his body seemed to come alive at once. The deluge of sensations threatened to overwhelm him. It was too much. He released Carol almost immediately, pushing her away as he averted his eyes. The thrum in his ears continued at a feverish cadence. He floundered, searching through his bag for his gloves. Nervously, he cleared his throat to discharge the energy still whirling inside him.

"Here, these'll help." The words barely escaped the torrential chaos within him.

Dewy-eyed, she swallowed the sob as she was thrust aside. She drew in a stiff breath to create some semblance of poise, telling herself she couldn't fall apart now, Daryl needed her to be strong. She tightened her resolve, shutting down her feelings. Carol took the gloves from him, prudently avoiding his fingers, and smiled faintly as she put them on.

Something indeterminate had skulked onto her face, obscuring the light, and spiraling Daryl deeper into his emotional vortex. Confounded, he took a deep breath to calm the frenetic energy coursing through him.

"Why didn't you say somethin'?" he asked her gravely, although he sensed he already knew the answer. The woman never seemed to take care of herself.

She shrugged into a tight coil. "We had to get out of there." Her eyes shot down to her boots and her shoulders slunk forward as she recalled the dangerous situation she put him in.

"I woulda pulled over sooner," he declared, his voice soft and honest.

"You've already done so much. Didn't feel right. Anyway, it's not important."

Her words hit at the raw spots in his chest and festered. "Hell, it ain't," he disputed gruffly. The sensory memory of her trembling, delicate form yielding to his arms simmered low in his gut, chafing him.

He saw her slink away into the poncho like she was trying to disappear. The guilt twisted him into tense knots as he regretted the roughness of his tone. "Warmer?" His voice was gentle again.

She nodded, barely meeting his eyes. This was no good. He bit at the frayed skin by his fingernail trying to figure out what to do. They were losing light and he had no clue how to restore her smile. He felt completely inadequate. The best thing he could think to do was bring her back safely to the others.

"C'mon then," he said, swinging his leg over the bike and starting it.

The bike rumbled as Carol climbed on meekly. Daryl swore that her arms wrapped less firmly around him and the knots of guilt continued to tighten inside his stomach. Grudgingly, he turned back onto the county road and headed towards the gas station.

* * *

><p>They arrived shortly after sunset. Rick and Lori emerged with smiles as they met their friends. Lori pulled Carol into a tight embrace the moment she got off the bike.<p>

"I was so worried, when I saw you on the field," she stated as she crushed Carol in her arms, her eyes filling with tears.

"You shouldn't have," Carol replied, hugging the woman back to reassure her. "We're fine."

She wasn't really but didn't think it would be appropriate to share. Lori was already beside herself with worry. Carol glanced at Daryl who was checking in with Rick.

Rick had his hand resting on Daryl's shoulder. "Glad you made it out okay."

"Thanks for drawin' those walkers away," Daryl replied. "It helped."

Daryl met Carol's troubled eyes and she smiled weakly before averting her gaze. He felt the cinching of the knot again as Carol turned and followed Lori into the small convenience store. Rick and Daryl stepped in behind them.

The store was empty and smelled a bit like spoiled milk. The shelves had been picked over already from the last time they had stopped here. When Carol entered, the others all stood and opened their arms to her, welcoming her back. She was grateful for their support. T-Dog had squeezed her tightly and lifted her off the ground, twirling her slightly as he laughed. The sudden motion had Carol blushing and giggling like a schoolgirl.

"I was hoping I'd see you again, Slayer," he burbled with relief as he swung her around.

The nickname made her smile. T's arms were strong and steady as they comforted her. Carol felt her dark thoughts slipping back to the corners of her mind as he twirled her. When he finally stopped spinning her, he put her down gently and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"You're okay," he said as if to convince her.

Daryl watched the scene unfold with a mix of emotions. He saw the features of Carol's face brighten and the corners of his lips twitched in satisfaction, but he felt the jagged barb of his own inadequacy digging in his gut.

The others bustled about him wanting to shake his hand and pat him on the back. It hadn't been that long since they had seen each other. He didn't understand all the fuss.

T-Dog pulled Carol over to a corner where she was shocked to see her backpack and sleeping bag waiting for her.

"You grabbed my stuff!" she said in a state of surprise.

"What? He didn't tell you?"

She shook her head.

"He told me to grab it when he went to get you at the creek. Didn't think there would be enough time for you to get it."

"There wasn't."

She turned to locate Daryl in the room. Glenn and Maggie were standing around him, welcoming him back. But his eyes were fixed on her. The moment she saw him, he quickly turned away and said something to Glenn she couldn't hear.

Later, when they were all sitting together, passing around the bag of deer jerky and discussing their plans for tomorrow, Carol realized her exhaustion. She excused herself from the circle and retreated to the far corner where T had placed her things.

A short while later, Daryl wandered over to where she was preparing to bed down for the night. He lifted his eyebrow at her as she sat down on the sleeping bag. "Everythin' alright?" he asked her.

She nodded, but didn't look at him. "Just tired."

Daryl eyed her skeptically and sat down next to her with his back against a cooler door. He sensed there was more to it.

She turned her head and glanced at him. "I never got a chance to thank you. For what you did for me today. The gun. The run. The creek. My bag. All of it."

He shrugged. "Weren't hardly nothin'."

"It was a lot," she contended, shaking her head. "It was helpful."

She scanned his eyes. There was something in them that made her feel vulnerable. She felt the ache in the center of her body rupture, sending tiny fissures of searing grief splintering upwards. Overcome with pain, she cast her eyes down as the insidious grief slashed at her heart.

"It was my fault for being down at the creek alone. You could have just left me."

Her words stung him. Is that what she thought of him? Did she really think he would do that? When they left the farm, he had wanted to go back for Andrea, but Rick wouldn't let him. She could have been alive for all they knew. The guilt and pain of not knowing what happened to her still kept him awake some nights.

His eyes darkened. "Ain't an option," he growled. "Ain't leavin' no one behind."

Carol's brow creased with worry. She reached for his arm without thinking and he shrugged her off reflexively. His reaction only seemed to amplify her pain.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that you would. I just-" she faltered, biting hard on her lip to keep it shut.

She hadn't meant to hurt him. The words were simply _ineffectual_. Brimming with grief, she felt toxic as it threatened to overflow. She wanted to reassure him but she was falling short. It was all suddenly too much to bear. She stared off distantly, looking for a way out, before continuing, "Just... thank you."

The pressure behind her eyes continued to build. Her chest was stretched tight and burning; her grief was a hot blade tearing her insides out. She couldn't breathe. She needed air. She wanted to escape before she came apart.

Daryl saw the darkness fall across her eyes once again. She stood to leave, so he followed, capturing her elbow before she could slip away. Gently tugging it until she turned around, he stared at her, piercing her with his intense blue eyes.

"Spill it," he demanded without any hardness in his voice.

Carol's face was a practiced mask of confusion. "I don't know what you mean."

"Bullshit," he argued, trying to temper his frustration. "Somethin's eatin' at ya. Has been since we left the storage units."

Carol felt exposed and raw. She looked down, hiding her shame. "It's nothing."

He snorted and shook his head. "It clearly ain't."

"There are enough problems. I just don't want to burden anyone."

He sighed. "Thought we've been through this already." He was becoming exasperated; he kept trying to reach her, but she kept fleeing. He wanted to seize her by the arms and tether her to the moment. To keep control, he took another calming breath. "You ain't no burden."

She heard the concern in his voice and realized he was trying to be supportive. He wanted to hear what was troubling her, but she was pushing him away. For a moment, she remained motionless as she was engulfed by her sorrow. "Sometimes, it just feels like too much."

Daryl listened intently.

"There's not a day goes by that I don't think about her."

_Sophia._ Daryl felt his heart wrench. She wasn't even his kid, but the loss of her had hurt all the same. He couldn't even imagine what Carol was going through.

"I put you in danger today. Just like I did to her." Her eyes burned and pooled with tears as she thought about Sophia alone at that creek. "I don't think I could have ever forgiven myself if something happened to you because I was so- _stupid_!"

Cracking, her tears seared damp trails as they rolled down her cheeks. She was losing her stringent resolve and was starting to crumble.

"Hey," he said firmly as he watched her face begin to quiver. "First off, you _ain't_ stupid. Shit, coulda been anyone o' us gotten stuck. S'your idea that got us out o' that mess, yeah?"

She supposed it was. She hadn't thought of that.

"Second, nothin' happened. All that worryin'? You gotta quit that."

The words felt hollow even as he said them. He said it like it was an easy thing to do. It made him realize he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

Studying her, he saw that the pain quivering on her face was akin to his own that twisted in his gut. In a flash, he recognized what her worrying had meant: she cared what happened to him. The two of them were more alike than he had first considered—they never talked about their wounds, but they were always there, buried under a layer of shame. This insight loosened the tight band in his chest and softened the features on his face.

He understood then. He could never take away her pain; the loss. It was a burden she would carry forever, like his own. And while he couldn't fix it for her, he could try to help lighten the load. After all, he carried it, too.

"I'm real sorry 'bout Sophia," he said tenderly. "I miss her, too."

His genuine confession was all it took to raze the bulwark of her resolve. Carol released a deep, guttural sob that shook her entire body. Hot tears burst from her eyes. Without hesitation, he put his arms around her and eased her burden. He felt her let go into his embrace as she trembled and wept. Soon, his own eyes were sodden as they bore their grief together.


	10. Flush

AN: Sorry for the delay. I haven't had much time to write and the story wants to unfold in its own time. What can I say, slow burn is... slow. Please continue to share your reviews! I love hearing what you think. It keeps me going. -jb

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><p><strong>Chapter 10: Flush<strong>

It was several weeks later when something finally clicked into place for the survivors. There was a constant rhythm to their movement from place to place, combined with a general lack of privacy and the necessary but grueling supply runs, which led to the development of a fundamental, nonverbal communication system among them. They learned to silently read the subtle expressions on each other's faces and to anticipate moods. Because of their constant close proximity, they tried to give each other as much space as possible. They became close because they depended on each other. On runs, they used simple hand gestures and whistles to signal each other while drawing the least amount of attention to themselves. Underneath each gesture, the trust was implicit, forged into solid steel from their experiences fighting side by side.

All of them had mastered basic survival skills. Each could build a hidden fire to conceal the light from wandering walkers and knew different ways to collect rain water. Daryl taught them how to build simple snares to trap animals and they set them whenever they stopped overnight. They went out in rotating teams to scout and scavenge and they kept reunification plans in the event of unexpected separations. But they stuck together, never traveling too far away.

Everyone kept a running mental list of necessities. These were the first items they searched for when they entered a new location. They kept most items stored in airtight plastic containers in the pickup, alongside the mounted motorcycle which Daryl stopped riding during the winter storms. Each of them had a bag packed with their own personal items, small tools, and daily necessities, such as emergency food and water. It was carried with them wherever they went. They started to keep track of the many herds they encountered on a map so they could try to avoid them as much as possible. It was safer to plan a strategic route, rather than travel blindly through hostile territory. They also recorded the places they had scavenged, so they could remember where they'd been.

Their bonds were like any tightly knit family. They ribbed each other, but thanked each other. They argued and disagreed, got on each other's nerves and in each other's faces from time to time, but when things got dangerous, they looked out for each other. They had each other's backs. They had made a pact with each other, that if they got bit or mortally wounded, another would prevent them from coming back as one of those hungry, empty corpses. They tended each other's wounds, the physical and the emotional ones. They endured each other's nightmares without complaint, held on through the tears, and celebrated each victory, however small. The respect they gave one another provided the strength they needed to get through another toiling day.

And still, the stress of their living conditions and daily responsibilities got to all of them at one time or another. They were sleep deprived and sometimes hungry. Everyone participated in night watch and driving shifts, even Carl to some extent and Lori when she was feeling up for it. Lori had given up trying to keep Carl sheltered. It was impossible to have a normal childhood given their adverse conditions and she was too tired to fight anymore. But she quietly worried. Carl had overheard her arguing with Rick one night and learned more about the origins of his future sibling than any child should have to learn. He didn't speak to her for a week. Rick was the one who gave orders, so only his opinion mattered to Carl anymore, it seemed to her.

Yet, Carl needed his mother sometimes, because he was still young and needed her reassurance. She was grateful for these moments, even though they seemed more and more infrequent. He came beaming to her one day, shortly after he'd started talking to her again, and bragged about his first walker kill since he'd put Shane down. He'd been pleased with himself as if he'd gotten the lead part in the school play. And so Lori treated it as if that were the case. She praised him. She praised all his firsts. She was proud of him even if he was becoming a man too soon. He was growing more independent, like a normal teenager in many regards. She saw Rick still trying to parent him, harping on all the teaching points as they arose, and giving Carl more responsibilities when he earned them. She loved him for that. She still loved him even though she knew their marriage had fallen apart.

Lori knew Rick still loved her and that he still worried about her, but he remained estranged. Distant. He rarely spoke to her with any affection. She didn't blame him, she knew what she had done, and she bore the guilt of her part in driving the wedge between Rick and Shane. Rick never touched her or provided her with any physical comfort, although he did his best to see that she was taken care of and as comfortable as possible. He made sure she ate; he often gave her half his share and sometimes he even went without. He said he'd take care of her and the baby, and he was never one to go back on his word.

Rick barricaded himself behind his own guilt about what he had done to Shane, even though he was certain that because of Shane's actions, he had been left with no choice. He would protect his family at any cost. Shane had been his best friend as well as his partner, and he had gotten Lori and Carl safely out of town while Rick was still lying in a coma. Rick felt he owed Shane and planned to do right by the baby, regardless of its biological paternity. Rick had done the math and knew the baby couldn't be his, but he never let on otherwise. The baby was innocent, after all.

Isolated from those she loved, Lori was scared most of the time, feeling more alone than she ever had. It forced her to develop some humility. She worked as hard as Rick would allow her to, mostly cleaning up after everyone. She washed clothes when they could and all their cooking implements. She wasn't the best cook, so she only prepared meals when the others were unavailable to do so. No one really complained about her cooking, they ate whatever was given to them, regardless of how tasteless or disgusting it was. They needed the calories. They were all losing weight except for Lori, but even she was still just bones and a tiny baby bump she wore like a scarlet letter.

As the days went on, she became close to Carol. Carol was the only one who knew what it was like to carry a child. She became her confidant; she was understanding and helped with Carl when he wouldn't mind her. Carol helped to alleviate her fears which were mounting every day. She encouraged her to laugh more and focus on the positive things that were still present in their daily lives. Lori admired her strength. She knew Carol had lost so much, and yet, she still persevered and was generous with her attention and care. Carol often came by at the end of the day to massage her lower back. She tried to find foods that Lori was craving. Sometimes she shared the exciting details about a run she had been on. She would tell Lori stories about the things that she saw that reminded her of the time before. Carol was a comfort. She was a gift.

In return, Lori's pregnancy, while certainly a detriment in their current circumstances, provided a sense of hope to Carol. It made her think about the balance of nature and the struggle for life. Even though life as they knew it had ceased to be, it adapted and continued on. The baby gave her hope for a brighter future and for the survival of mankind.

Winter had arrived bearing teeth. The icy rains and high winds had made travel more precarious. The storms greatly decreased visibility, so they traveled at slower speeds. Daryl rode with T-Dog and Carol in the pickup. They were on the road for several hours every day looking for food and supplies, and it was the only vehicle he could tolerate being in for extended periods of time. Carol thought they made a well-balanced traveling team. T-Dog's cheerful storytelling balanced out Daryl's sullen muteness. There was a good mix of comfortable silence and conversation. But Carol also sensed a growing tension simmering between Daryl and T-Dog. On more than one occasion, she had caught Daryl glowering at T-Dog, but she'd understood Daryl's grumpiness as being related to his lack of solitude, so she never brought attention to it.

Christmas had come and gone without a single acknowledgment. They were too busy surviving to keep track of the holidays. They were meaningless now. Every day was precious and meaningful when the violent threat of extinction was a daily reality.

It was some time in the afternoon, and the winter sky had grown dark and thick with menacing storm clouds. They had been driving since before dawn, after a large herd had descended upon the house they had stayed in the night before. They had almost gotten caught in the small town when two smaller herds joined together at an intersection, forcing them to change course. Carol had taken an early driving shift in the Suburban when they finally stopped at dawn, a couple hours after they escaped. Rick had been on watch for most of the night and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, and Lori was struggling with nausea and couldn't drive. Carl swapped places with Carol, and joined Daryl and T-Dog in the pickup. He had been happy to spend some time with people other than his parents. It often felt tense, something lay unspoken between the two of them, but nothing Carl ever said or did seemed to make it go away.

Carol felt compassion for Lori as she listened to the poor woman vomit into a series of small brown paper bags all morning.

"I thought I was past all this fun stuff," Lori lamented as she rolled down the window and tossed out her latest accomplishment.

"You poor thing," Carol sympathized. "Have you been able to keep anything down?"

"Not today." Lori took a sip of some flattened ginger ale and rested her head against the window.

The sky suddenly opened up and rain poured from the sky in sheets. Carol could barely make out the taillights of the green pickup traveling ahead of her. She checked the rearview mirror and noticed the headlights of the Hyundai still following behind her. Their convoy slowed considerably for several miles. Eventually, she saw the pickup turn its blinker on so she did the same, following it off the highway and into the parking lot of a truck stop.

She pulled up alongside the passenger side of the pickup while the Hyundai parked along the driver's side. She rolled the window down and saw Daryl sitting in the passenger seat. He lifted his chin to acknowledge her as the rain pelted them.

"This rain's a real drag. Can't see for shit. S'better to stop here an' wait it out. We can probably fill up before we leave, too. Rick awake yet?"

Carol shook her head.

"Everythin' alright?"

She nodded and smiled at him. "We're fine." It warmed her heart that he was being so considerate.

"Okay. We'll send Carl back over while me an' T go in an' check it out. Sit tight."

He rolled up the window and Carol did the same. A few seconds later the back driver's side door popped open and a slightly drenched Carl entered the vehicle, waking Rick with a start.

"What's happening?" Rick panicked, reaching for the gun in his holster.

"Sorry, Dad," Carl apologized sheepishly as he dripped all over his father. He closed the door quickly.

"We're at a truck stop," Lori explained as she peered into the backseat.

"Daryl and T-Dog just went in to clear it and make sure it's safe to stop for the night," Carol added.

When it was deemed safe to enter, Daryl came by and knocked on the window. They grabbed what they needed and made a dash for the entrance. Still, they all arrived inside soaking wet. It turned out to be a small diner with a gift shop attached. A few large black stains on the floor were the only evidence there had been walkers inside when T-Dog and Daryl had entered.

Carol found a mop in a yellow rolling bucket standing in the corner by the restrooms and immediately set to cleaning it up. If they were going to sleep here, it was the least she could do to make it more bearable. She searched around and found some heavy duty cleaning solution and diluted it with rain water. When she went outside to fill the bucket, she saw Daryl standing outside smoking a cigarette as he stood on watch, guarding the entrance. The rolling bucket was awkward to maneuver and it fell over as she tried to get it over the curb. When he saw what she was doing, he helped her lift the bucket over the curb, after it had filled.

"Thanks," she said smiling. Her short hair was plastered to her head and small beads of water had adorned her face, making her glisten in the grey light.

Daryl was momentarily captivated by the way the light danced on her face and stood frozen in place as he observed a single bead of water roll slowly down along the elegant crease of her nose and hesitate at the soft corner of her bottom lip. Warmth radiated from his chest and began spreading down his arms until his calloused fingers twitched with a sudden yearning for softness. He was just about to reach his thumb to her lip, to brush the offending bead away, when the muffled crash of a falling pot somewhere inside the kitchen jolted his attention away, returning him to his senses. His heart raced wildly, like an animal caught in a trap, and he worried. _Where's your head at?_ He realized he was blocking her way. "Sorry," he apologized, stepping to the side as he took a final drag from his cigarette and tossed the butt into the downpour. He held the door for her as she clumsily maneuvered the bucket back inside. A warm flush crept up the back of his neck when she innocently brushed against him as she pushed the wobbly bucket across the threshold. The rippling effect of the contact set his whole body on fire.

"Thank you," she said again as she smiled back at him.

He clenched his jaw to contain the onslaught of sensations awakening in his body, only managing to nod at her once before closing the door behind her. Afterward, he quickly retreated to the edge of the awning, gasping for air. Cupping his hands under the icy stream of cascading water, he splashed it onto his face and neck, numbing his skin. _What the hell's wrong with me?_

Inside, Carol mopped the tiled floor while Beth wiped down the tables. Glenn and Maggie were setting up the lanterns and a few candles they'd found in the gift shop along the countertop as Rick and T-Dog covered up the windows with old newspapers. Lori sat in a secluded corner, expressing her concerns about her morning sickness to Hershel who was patiently reassuring her. Suddenly, Carl stumbled out of the kitchen, holding a portable CD player like a prize-winning trophy.

"Look what I found!" he said animatedly as he showed the others. Turning to his father, he asked, "Can I play it?"

Rick saw that his son was brimming with excitement, and he did not want to crush the glimmer of hope he saw bursting forth on his face. "Sure, why not," he allowed, smiling. "I think we could all use something to whistle while we work."

Carl set it on one of the tables that Beth had cleaned and pressed play. The female singer was a Latin artist that none of them had heard before, but the rhythm of the music was infectious. Carl stared at the CD player as if it was a magical box and the singer herself had stepped out of it. Soon, everyone was bopping around and swinging their hips as they worked to settle into their new accommodations.

After the floor was mopped, Carol went into the kitchen to figure out a meal. Inspecting the shelves and cabinets, she gathered all the canned food and a large bag of rice. She also found plenty of salt and spices and an unopened container of cooking oil. It was a windfall. Likewise, she was ecstatic when she discovered that the gas stove actually worked and figured it must be hooked up to a propane tank outside. "Finally, a working kitchen!" she exclaimed and cheers erupted from the dining area.

Relishing the luxury of their new accommodations, Carol creatively began to mix together some ingredients for dinner. She even baked some biscuits from a packaged mix. They probably wouldn't be the best tasting since they lacked a few essential ingredients, but the smell of them baking in the oven had everyone drooling.

"I haven't smelled anything so good in months," Lori said cheerfully as she helped Carol serve the meal. "I have a good feeling that I will be able to keep this meal down."

Carol grinned at her. "I hope you do! We could almost get spoiled staying here."

After everyone had been served, Carol made up a plate and a cup of hot cocoa and took it outside to Daryl, who stubbornly refused to come inside.

"Here you go," she said, handing him the steaming plate with a proud smile. It was piled high with beans, rice, vegetables, and a couple of biscuits.

"Smells delicious," he said, expressing his gratitude as he eagerly eyed the plate. His mouth was already watering in anticipation. He took off his gloves and for once, he picked up the fork and used it, a gesture that made Carol smile. Daryl couldn't help but let out a soft groan of appreciation as the tastes from the hot food erupted and tumbled around on his palate.

"Must be fork worthy," she joked about the meal. It was subtle, but she saw a hint of delight softening the rugged features of his face. She thought it made him look handsome, but she didn't comment on it.

"You didn't eat yet?" he mumbled with his mouth full. He wouldn't be surprised if she hadn't. She gave herself the smallest portion and was always the last to eat. He worried that she was too thin.

She shook her head. "I just wanted to make sure you got something hot while you were out here." Feeling a chill, she warmed her hands on the mug as she listened to the cold rain pattering on the slick pavement. She could have set the mug down beside him and gone back inside, but the sound of the rain was peaceful.

Without looking at her, he passed her one of the biscuits and wouldn't allow her to refuse it. "Don't make me eat alone," he grumbled into his plate. He knew she hadn't left enough for herself.

They stood side by side as they ate, staring out into enveloping darkness, while the steady beating of the rain lulled them into a comfortable silence. Daryl savored every bite, not knowing when he'd have another meal as appetizing as this one. While it lacked meat, he thought it was the best dinner he'd had since they left the farm. It certainly had been the most filling. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and let out a politely restrained belch. He stood there quietly for a few minutes, letting the food digest, secretly enjoying her company, before he handed her the empty plate and took the mug in exchange. "Go on now," he shooed her gently. "Get somethin' for yourself before those vultures eat it all."

"Aye, aye, Captain," she saluted him and turned with a smile. "Try not to drown out here."

He rolled his eyes at her in response, although he knew she was only teasing. After she went back inside, he drew the mug up to his lips and breathed in the sweet aroma of the cocoa. His eyes shut briefly as he lingered in the scent, and he saw Carol's smiling blue eyes sparkling at him in the darkness. When he finally took a sugary sip, it was delicious, but he didn't need the cocoa to keep him warm.

Carol scraped the meager remains of the meal onto her plate and joined the others in the dining area. Lori lifted her mug of hot cocoa to Carol as she sat down next to her.

"Compliments to the chef," she toasted.

"Hear, hear," Hershel echoed the sentiment from across the table.

Soon others were calling out their compliments and expressions of gratitude. Carol smiled gracefully at the outpouring of their loving appreciation. She felt it warming her cold, aching bones. "It's amazing what a few spices can do to add flavor."

After the dishes were done, the CD player was turned on again. Glenn grabbed Maggie and started dancing with her. He wasn't a very good dancer, but he tried really hard and Maggie didn't seem to mind.

T-Dog walked over to Carol and extended his hand. "C'mon, we can't let them be the only ones out there."

"I don't know," Carol hesitated. "I've got two left feet."

"You can't be any worse than Glenn," he assured her.

"Well, when you put it that way," she relented and took T-Dog's hand. Before long he had her spinning around and forgetting her flaws.

After a while, Beth approached Carl, who had been gleefully watching the couples dance and act silly.

"Do you wanna dance?" she inquired shyly.

Carl blushed. "I don't know how."

"It's okay. I'll teach you," she replied, smiling as she extended her hand.

"Alright." He didn't need much prompting to take her hand.

Rick watched his son's first dance lesson and laughed lightly as he saw Carl stumble and step on Beth's toes. Beth was gracious and good-natured about it. As Rick smiled, he looked over at Lori who smiled back at him as they shared this awkward moment in Carl's social life. For a moment, they were simply proud parents watching their son learn how to dance and flirt with an older girl. Then, something bleakly fell across Rick's face, and his smile faded. He looked away, seeking comfort solely in his son's experience.

Hershel saw the exchange between Lori and Rick, and the resulting heartbroken look that appeared on Lori's face as Rick distanced himself from her. He knew the couple had undergone a tremendous amount of stress and that their marriage had been troubled for a long time. One night as they shared watch together, Rick had confided in him about what had transpired between them, and confessed that he didn't think he could find forgiveness for the wrongs he felt were done to him. Hershel, who had seen more years than the former deputy, was certain that he saw the love which still existed between them. He had told Rick he was old-fashioned, and he was of the belief that marriage was truly for better or worse, but that it sometimes took a little more effort to get through the worst of times. In his opinion, Rick seemed to be avoiding the problem rather than trying to work through it. He counseled Rick often, but he tried not to meddle in his personal affairs. This time, however, he felt the need to step in and do something.

"Madam," he said to Lori, offering his hand, "would you do me the honor of having this dance with me?"

"Certainly," she replied, accepting his hand with a smile.

As they danced across the diner, Lori tried not to look at Rick. "Thank you for coming to my rescue," she conveyed her gratitude to Hershel.

"He'll come around," Hershel promised. "It's obvious he still loves you. He just needs to work it out in his own time."

"That's what Carol's been telling me. And I'm trying to be patient. I am. But I'm just worried about the baby."

"That's exactly why you shouldn't stress about it. It's not good for the baby. Rick will do whatever he can to keep you, Carl, and the baby safe. You know that. I've seen it."

"You're right, you're right. I just don't know how to be patient."

Hershel smiled. "Think of it more as a practice than a state of being," he recommended lightheartedly as he twirled her around.

Rick watched Hershel spin his wife around as they danced. He felt guilty that he was still harboring a resentment against her. Hershel had spoken to him about the importance of forgiveness in the covenant of marriage, but she had done things, they had both done things that were unforgivable. How did they come back from that? Besides, it wasn't just Lori and Carl now; Rick was responsible for the entire group. He was their leader. He couldn't let his personal problems get in the way and cloud his judgment. People were depending on him and their lives were at stake.

He watched the group enjoying themselves and never felt more alone. Rick cared about them all, but worried about getting too close to them; he didn't want it to cloud his judgment. It was important to keep his distance so that he could lead them effectively, make the tough decisions that were sometimes required. He couldn't let his feelings for Lori get in the way of the safety of the group. Not after what happened with Shane. Until they found a safe place, he just couldn't open that door.

He needed time to clear his head, so he left the group to their festivities and went outside to relieve Daryl from watch. Night had fallen, and the rainstorm continued to rage unrelentingly.

"Why don't you go on inside and get warm," Rick told him. "I'll keep watch."

"I'm good," Daryl insisted, reluctant to go inside. The thought of it churned in his gut. It was bitter cold, but he preferred the outdoors. It felt too small inside with so many people crowded into the space. He was content to know the people he cared about were safe. The rainfall was soothing and it helped him to forget his worries. But more importantly, it provided a safe distance from the disturbing attraction he had to Carol and a refuge from the crippling fears which came along with it.

Rick simply nodded at Daryl and let it go. He was beginning to understand the man's need for solitude, so he didn't argue. The two men stood there in silent vigilance, guarding against their deepest fears, as the dark, freezing rain drowned their unbidden desires.


	11. Strength, Courage, and Wisdom

AN: Warning: Violent imagery ahead. Read at your own risk.

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><p><strong>Chapter 11: Strength, Courage, and Wisdom<strong>

The rain finally ceased sometime in the early morning. The sudden, too-still silence was so jarring, it woke Carol up. It was mostly dark; slivered moonlight lit up the cracks around the papered windows. Carol's body was stiff and aching from sleeping on the cold, hard tiles of the truck-stop floor. She could hear Hershel snoring, more lightly than usual, on the other side of the room. Maggie coughed a few times and Carol hoped she wasn't coming down with anything. The last thing they needed now was for any of them to get sick. Lori lay next to her, her breathing soft and even, finally sleeping peacefully after a fitful night. The adrenaline coursing through her layers of fatigue made Carol doubt she would be able to return to sleep. She gently stretched and yawned, then she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, determined to just push through her physical exhaustion today. If she was lucky, she might catch a nap later while they were on the road.

She slowly unzipped her sleeping bag and found the lighter in her pocket. Using its dim light she found her boots and her bag and took them with her as she silently made her way into the women's restroom. Once inside, she turned on her flashlight and set it on the sink. It had been several days since she had been able to pamper herself with her hygiene ritual. By these standards, this morning felt almost leisurely. After relieving herself, she undressed and cleaned her face and body with baby wipes. Then she rubbed unscented lotion onto her skin which was always drier in the winter months. It was cold, so she dressed quickly in her last clean pair of underwear and socks and wondered if there would be time to do laundry today. She put back on the shirt and sweater she took from the house they stayed in the night before as they were still relatively clean, meaning they weren't yet caked in layers of sweat, dirt, and walker guts. The pants she slipped back on were filthy, but her other pair were as well. She didn't worry about it; she had done what she could. At some point, she had just come to accept the general lack of cleanliness that came with the hard toil of their nomadic life. She simply placed the dirty items into the plastic bag that held all her clothes that needed to be cleaned and stuffed it back into her backpack. After she put her boots on, she brushed her teeth. She didn't have enough water with her to wash her hair, so she simply poured a little water on her head as she leaned over the sink and ran her hand through her hair. Afterwards, she quickly dried her head with a small towel she pulled from the outside pocket of her backpack. She felt as clean as she could get and it made her feel a little more awake.

After she sharpened her knife the way Daryl had taught her, she grabbed the flashlight and searched the stalls. She found a wrapped roll of toilet paper and put it in her bag along with the other items. It was one thing she hoped to never run out of.

When she left the bathroom, she saw that everyone inside was still asleep. She put her bag down by the door and pulled her scarf out, creeping quietly into the gift shop to browse what remained as she wrapped the scarf around her neck. _What a bunch of useless crap,_ she reflected dismissively about people's priorities before the turn as she shined her flashlight across the cheap trinkets and souvenirs. The light reflected something that caught her attention. As she walked over to it she saw that it was a bowl full of small, polished stones. The sign overhead read "Lucky Stones" with a listing of the types of stones available. She read the list along with their presumed properties.

_Agate – Health, Energy_

_Amethyst – Mental Clarity_

_Aventurine _–_ Prosperity_

_Hematite _–_ Grounding, Organization_

_Jasper _–_ Peace, Healing Grief_

_Lapis Lazuli _–_ Wisdom_

_Malachite – Harmony_

_Obsidian – Insight_

_Quartz _–_ Purification_

_Rose Quartz _–_ Love_

_Tiger's Eye _–_ Strength, Courage_

While she doubted the veracity of the characteristics ascribed to a bunch of rocks, she also thought it couldn't hurt to have a good luck charm. She chose a small, brown nugget of Tiger's Eye because she still felt weak and uncertain. She wanted to overcome her fears in order to do the terrifying things she knew were necessary in this new life. The stone gave off a luminous golden sheen that she found appealing as she examined it closely in her hand. She closed her palm around its coolness and stuck it in her pocket.

She slipped out of the diner quietly and in the moonlight she saw Glenn and T-Dog standing outside under the awning's shadow. They both turned in unison when they heard the door creak open. They smiled at her as she approached them.

"Which of you is the most sleep deprived?" she whispered. "Or do I need to flip a coin again to see who I'm relieving?"

"This man can barely keep his eyes open," T-Dog said quietly as he put his hand on Glenn's shoulder. "Must be all that sneakin' around he's been doin' with the farmer's daughter." He winked at Carol.

"Glenn, have you been moonlighting again?" Carol teased.

"What are we supposed to do? I mean, Hershel is always around. It's weird!"

"Go get some shut eye, Romeo."

Glenn didn't argue. She reached for the shotgun as Glenn handed it to her and draped the strap across her shoulder.

"Thanks, Carol."

For what seemed a long time, Carol stood attentively with T-Dog until the dark sky lightened to progressive shades of gray. Watching the sun rise made her feel at peace, even on a cloudy day. She liked to focus on the little things that brought joy to her broken heart. There was a frosty nip to the air so Carol stepped closer to T-Dog to profit from his body heat. She gazed out into the parking lot taking note of the few cars and trucks parked in the lot.

"Have you checked out those cars yet?" she broke the silence in a hushed tone.

"Nah, not yet."

"Maybe we should check them out. You know, seek for lost treasure." She rubbed her hands together hopefully and tucked them under her arms for warmth.

"Like loose change in a car seat?" he teased.

"Come on. Where's your sense of adventure, huh?" she prodded him, poking him in the ribs with her elbow. "This is Georgia. There's bound to be a gun rack in one of those trucks. We can sneak over and sneak back. No one will ever have to find out."

"Find what out?" Daryl's voice boomed out from behind them. His eyes grew dark as he warily eyed the two of them huddled together, conspiring.

The suddenness of his voice startled them both. "Dammit man, why do you always gotta sneak up like that?" T-Dog chided him lightly.

"I ain't sneakin'. You just ain't listenin'," Daryl sneered defensively, glaring at the man with an icy stare.

"Ain't nothin' to hear but the wind," T-Dog muttered to himself.

"Good morning," Carol called out cheerfully to Daryl, trying to lessen the tension that had suddenly thickened in the air around them.

"S'mornin' alright," Daryl said disagreeably, looking away. The cruelty of the floor had rigidly affixed to his frame like a stick up the ass. It had been an unrestorative sleep. The walls around him had felt overly oppressive. It had been too long since he'd been able to slip away into the solace of the woods. He wasn't eager to cram himself back into the truck.

"Do you ever wake up in a good mood?" T-Dog asked. It was too early in the day to tolerate Daryl's petulance.

"Theodore, don't fan the flame," she admonished him in a motherly tone. "You," she pointed at Daryl accusingly, "come with me."

"Where we goin'?" he asked as he stepped off the curb of the sidewalk and followed her obediently.

"To get some air," she explained. She led him to one of the trucks trying to distract him. He needed something to do. "Let's check these cars and trucks for something useful. Okay?"

He grumbled compliantly, "Fine." What else was there to do?

Carol checked the driver's side door of a rusted Ford truck. It was locked. She peered inside, but couldn't immediately see anything they needed inside the cab. She veered off in the direction of another truck.

Daryl inspected the area around the gas pumps. "If we can pry the lid off, we can probably tap the tank underground. S'most likely still full."

He was moving into problem-solving mode. Carol interpreted it as a good sign and smiled.

"That's good. I know the Suburban's below a quarter tank." She peered through the windshield and her eyes spotted a gun rack mounted to the back of the cab. "Bingo!" she called out triumphantly.

"Find somethin'?" Daryl walked over to her.

Carol tried the door, but it was locked. "Yeah, a rifle from the looks of it. Could be some rounds inside, too." She looked around to see if there were any walkers nearby. There weren't any, so she stepped back away from the truck and used the butt of the shotgun to break the window and clear away the sharp pieces from the door frame. Afterward, she stood on her toes to reach inside but was unable find the lock mechanism.

"Careful," he cautioned her. "Here, let me." He reached in through the opening and easily unlocked the door. He stretched across the seat avoiding the glass shards and unfastened the gun from the rack. "Nice lookin' rifle," he said as he examined it before handing it to her. He reached in the cab again to open the glove box and pulled out a box of ammo.

He handed her the box. When she opened it she saw that it was full and smiled to herself. Daryl took out the red rag from his back pocket and used it to wipe away the glass pieces that had fallen on the seat and floorboard. He searched with his hand underneath the seat and pulled out a large buck knife in a leather sheath. With his left hand, he grabbed a hold of the steering wheel and stepped up into the truck, sliding along the seat bench to check under the passenger seat. His fingers brushed against something and he pulled out a small box of MREs.

"Bet this guy was sorry to leave all this behind," he speculated as he crawled out of the truck.

"Maybe this is a good omen," she beamed at him.

Daryl shrugged. He didn't think it meant any more than it being a decent discovery. They continued searching the cars and scavenged what they could. It was a different kind of hunting but it made him feel productive and took his mind off their situation. The severity of his negative mood began to lighten. He watched Carol rifle through a trunk with an intriguing sense of awe for her faculty of attunement. Somehow, she understood him. She knew how to weather his moods and wasn't easily deterred by his brooding. She was a good woman and he admired her nurturing patience and fortitude. Carol handled adversity with such grace that it put him to shame for his attitude. He felt undeserving of her friendship. It made him want to keep trying to be a better man. One that could be worthy of her approval.

He helped her carry their spoils into the back of their truck where she began to organize the items into their appropriate bins. The others began to trickle out as they arose. Rick made his way over to Daryl and Carol as they were securing the new items and inquired about their activities. Daryl had told him about the rifle and rounds they'd found among other supplies, making sure that Carol got the credit for their looting. Once he had finished helping Carol, Daryl went off with Rick to siphon some gas. Carol went back inside to make coffee and start breakfast to fuel them through another demanding day.

* * *

><p>It lightly showered on and off throughout the day while they traveled. They stopped for a bathroom break between spells of rain. The men and women naturally separated to opposite sides of the road to do their business.<p>

A cluster of walkers came out of nowhere catching the men almost literally with their pants down. Two walkers cornered Daryl against a large tree. He stabbed one with his knife, which got stuck in its head. The second was on him immediately while he was trying to pull it out. He stepped back defensively and slipped in the mud, releasing his grip on the knife as he fell backwards. The corpse toppled with him. The second walker pursued him on the ground, looking for a fresh meal, trapping Daryl under the weight of both of them. He used his left hand to keep the walker from biting down on him as he tried with his right hand to release himself from underneath the walkers. But they had gotten caught on a tree root, and as hard as he pushed, Daryl couldn't get them off him. The hungry walker snarled its rotting teeth as it snapped closely at Daryl. Terror ran like ice through his veins, and he felt a stabbing sensation in his chest as his heart lurched trying to pump his blood faster. He hated being confined, it instantly transported him into his painful past as memories began to violently explode behind his eyes and overloaded his senses. _Looks like you got your panties all in a bundle, baby brother_, he heard Merle's voice taunting him as the past and the present got twisted in Daryl's mind. He continued to struggle in vain to free himself. _Must be you ain't tryin' hard enough._ The burning hammer in his chest kept pounding as he desperately grappled with the walker. _What's the matter, Darylina, your wimpy li'l arms all tuckered out? _The foul stench of the walker's breath had his stomach churning. Bile was percolating in the back of his throat. The sweat stung in his eyes clouding his vision. His mind flashed to the memory of his old man kneeling on his chest as he brutally beat him. The stench was overpowering and the heavy weight kept pressing him down. Daryl couldn't prevent the panicked whimper of total fright from escaping his mouth as he thrashed about trying to escape. _Go on, cry like a little girl!_

Suddenly, gooey walker brains exploded over him as the tip of a knife came through the walker's eye socket. Daryl gasped for air and squirmed violently as the walker bodies were pulled away. _Don't be such a pussy! _He turned his head and spat the bitter taste of stomach acid from his mouth. His chest burned as he sucked in the air in quick, shallow successions. When his field of vision cleared, he saw T-Dog standing there with a concerned look on his face offering him a hand. As if he were anticipating a trap, Daryl eyed him suspiciously for several seconds, panting heavily, before he finally reached up and accepted the assistance. When T-Dog didn't tease him, Daryl softened as he stood.

"Thanks, man," he wheezed between painful breaths.

"That's what we do," T-Dog replied, slapping him on the back of the shoulder with brotherly affection. "I thought you were a goner for a minute there."

Daryl was still shaken from the ordeal and could barely choke out another response. "Yeah, me too."

"You bit?" There was genuine concern in T-Dog's voice.

"No, the ugly fucker missed," Daryl stated, trying to collect himself. He stomped on the lifeless corpse to hide the adrenaline tremors which began quaking through his body.

Glenn, Rick, and Carl emerged unscathed from the other side of the tree. Carl was bragging about his latest walker kill.

"That's eight," he boasted to his father with a large grin. Rick patted him on the back.

Daryl glared at them both in disgust, still reeling from what had happened. "This ain't no fuckin' game," he scolded them angrily and stormed off towards the road.

The others looked at T-Dog for an explanation. He shook his head disapprovingly at them. "For once, I ain't gonna argue with the man. He just had a close call." Frowning, he followed Daryl back to the cars.

* * *

><p>Carol wasn't sure how long they had been back on the road when she started struggling to keep her eyes open. T-Dog had already lost the battle and was leaning with his head against the window, asleep. It was hard to resist the soothing sway of the truck as it carried them through the countryside. She felt obligated to be Daryl's co-pilot to ensure he remained alert. She didn't want to abandon him by nodding off, especially after what had happened earlier. He had refused to let anyone else drive stating he needed to keep his mind occupied.<p>

He had returned to the truck visibly traumatized. Her heart twisted in anguish when she noticed him and she ran towards him automatically. He had waved off her concern with a dismissive hand as he violently paced in front of the convoy, swinging his arms and kicking at the air, so she kept her distance and didn't press him for details. She was grateful that he was alive. T-Dog appeared, shortly afterward, with a similar look on his face, and he simply shook his head at her questioning stare. When the others safely arrived wearing similar solemn expressions, she made her own assumptions about what had occurred. They spared the women the gruesome details and Carol had been satisfied with the relief that they had all returned unharmed. But now, the doubt soldiered on, dutifully fueling her resistance.

Daryl saw her straining to stay awake so he simply reassured her. "M'alright. Quit fightin' it. Jus' sleep." His gentle encouragement gave her the permission she seemed to need to succumb to the fatigue which was rapidly enveloping her. Eventually, her head relaxed back against the seat as she fell asleep.

Truthfully, he was feeling better. It had taken awhile for the energy in his body to settle down. He couldn't get back in the truck right away, but no one had pushed him to do it before he was ready. Wordlessly, the others gave him the space he needed to calm down. It was the unexpected revelation of simply knowing they were there that ultimately helped him to let the fear run its natural course. As his heart rate returned to normal, he saw her watching him without condemnation and without pity. There was concern in her eyes, certainly, but there was something else. It was something entirely unfamiliar to him, but fiercely steady. He ceased his pacing as he took note of it. A hard substance suddenly dissolved in his chest and pooled warmly in his belly. The strange elixir charged through him like a conduit making him feel more robust and revitalized. The cold fear had simply dissipated and he was left feeling inexplicably stronger somehow. He felt like he could endure anything.

Daryl examined the relaxed features of Carol's face as he drove in silence. The corners of his lips curled in satisfaction as he watched her finally resting peacefully. Increasingly, he was discovering how gratifying it felt to take care of her. Doing so imbued him with a profound masculine pride which he had never felt before. When her head dropped onto his shoulder, it took every ounce of restraint he had not to wrap his arm around her protectively and draw her closer.

_Hell, you've gone soft as a bitch, Darylina. Maybe you should pull over and get yourself some tampons._

His imagining of Merle's jeers made him compulsively stiffen. The sudden movement nudged Carol awake. "I'm sorry," she uttered profusely when she realized where her head had been. "Didn't mean to drool on you." She laughed uneasily as she wiped at the wet spot on his jacket.

_What're you playin' at?_ his insecurities heckled him. Daryl felt deficiently like a fool as he watched Carol cycle into her self-reproaching caretaker role. He was no gallant gentleman. He was nothing but a worthless piece of redneck trash.


	12. Cracks

**AN:** Thanks everyone for your wonderful reviews! You make me happy! They are the only payment I get, so please continue to share your thoughts with me as they keep me going. Sorry for the delay in getting this out. The next few updates will probably be as well as I've got a lot going on right now. This chapter was tough to write for many reasons. I really struggled to complete it, but still have mixed feelings about it. I would love to hear your thoughts.

Warning: Violent imagery and references to abuse are contained in the following chapter. Please read at your own risk.

* * *

><p><strong>Ch<strong>**apter 12: Cracks**

The nightmares came every night after that as Daryl's insecurities began to seep through the cracks of his defenses. Sensory fragments of buried memories came to him in vivid flashes, painting a gruesome picture of the hell he had grown up in. There was the corner of the living room where the dirty white paint was peeling away from the wall. The deranged boom in his father's voice echoing in his skull. _What're you fuckin' smilin' about you worthless piece o' shit?_ The dread churning in his stomach. That threatening brass glint of the belt buckle. Intimidating, bloodshot eyes glaring at him. A whooshing hum of pure terror in his ears. The swish of the belt being extracted from his father's waist. _Take it like a man! _ White bolt of pain tearing through his spine. Bright, red blood trickling over bruised skin. _A Dixon don't never give up, boy._ Those rough, dingy fibers of the carpet chafing his cheek. Discordant laughter blaring from some inane sitcom on the television. But it was the smell that lingered with him. That stale smell of cheap whiskey and tobacco on his father's breath as Daryl was beaten. In the end, he was always suffocating in his fear and awoke with painful gasping breaths.

He wasn't sleeping. He wore his anger like a sharpened knife and he was quick to wield it. He was on edge and jumping at every loud noise. His mood deteriorated and he grew more defensive. All the feelings that he'd suppressed that he didn't know what to do with began to emerge from the murky depths of his unconscious and overwhelm him as his emotional stone walls began to crumble. Daryl was at war with himself and it felt like he was losing his mind. He tried to avoid Carol, but he couldn't; there was nowhere he could go. And yet, there was a persistent need to know where she was. He found himself checking on her constantly to confirm that she was safe. The desire to protect her was growing stronger even as she grew more confident from the skills he taught her. He wasn't sure which threat he was afraid of more–the never-ending danger from the walkers or the feelings she evoked in him which grew stronger every day, but left him feeling weak, confused. She was all that was good still left in the world and he wasn't good enough. Even so, he was compelled by the need to save her like some precious relic. He wanted to shield her from more than just the ugliness of his thorny scars. He was afraid of losing control, of hurting her. The internal conflict raged within him, stirring up a bitter mix of doubt and remorse. The more he was drawn to her powerful magic, the more he felt attacked by his hidden demons which threatened to lash out and destroy all that was dear to him. At first, it was just the internalized voice of his brother mocking him at every hopeful turn. But increasingly, a voice more cruel and vicious than Merle's began disturbing him–his father's. It terrified him and made him more uncertain about the choices he made.

Daryl's father was the kind of man who liked his liquor more than his own flesh and blood. He was hard-lined and narrow-minded. He was a bigot and a homophobe, a vile caricature of hypermasculinity who brutally indoctrinated his sons with his rigid beliefs. Feelings of any kind were deemed evidence of weakness and thusly denied, invalidated, and eradicated, primarily by force. The man was an armchair dictator with a chip on his shoulder the size of the state of Georgia. He was often parked in that easy chair with his bottle of whiskey in one hand and his pistol in the other. Disagreements were settled with a shot from one or the other. Daryl never argued with him even though he knew his father was wrong most of the time. He followed the most asinine orders his father dictated in the hopes he might get some kind of approval from the old man. But it was never enough. It was all or nothing with his daddy. His attention was either intensely on Daryl's every movement or he ignored him completely, often abandoning him for days at a time. As far as he was concerned, he'd taught Daryl how to hunt and fish and figured that was all the parental responsibility that was required and left Daryl to fend for himself. But Daryl never knew which daddy he was coming home to, so he learned to be vigilant. His father's anger only got worse after Merle left, because it only left Daryl to blame, and he was too good looking, too sweet, too much like his goddamned mother; he could never live up to his father's unreasonable expectations. So Daryl had learned to hide in the shadows and make himself scarce. But he never ratted his father out even when that social worker he was forced to see tried to shrink his head. No, he was loyal to a fault. But he grew up embarrassed of where he'd come from and how he'd been raised. He didn't want to be like his father, but he didn't know any other way.

In the group, he felt that he never quite measured up to the rest of them, like he didn't quite belong. He was used to not fitting in. But that was slowly changing and it made him uncomfortable. He wanted to belong, but he didn't know how to deal with the respect and admiration he received from the others. As he grew closer to Carol and the others, his insecurities grew louder. He wasn't used to feeling needed. He wasn't used to someone caring for him. He wasn't used to making an effort to be around people. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, as if he was anticipating the bottom of this tenuous foundation to drop out on him and for them to all turn against him, or worse, leave him. Shielding himself from that fate, he kept as much distance between himself and the others as he could, returning to the familiar comfort of the shadows.

Carol became increasingly aware that Daryl was watching her closely. He noticed when she was present. He checked on her when she was settling down for the night. He made sure she had what she needed. He followed her with his eyes wherever she went. It didn't make her feel nervous the way Ed's mistrusting eyes had. She felt safe with Daryl around. She felt like he was watching out for her.

She was worried about him. He had grown even more aloof and easily upset since the walker incident. She knew he was having nightmares. Something had shaken him to the core and he'd curled up into a hard shell. She hadn't seen him as volatile since their days at the quarry.

It was getting increasingly harder for him to physically pull away from the group. He rode the motorcycle on every clear day just to create more of a protective buffer between himself and the others. It wasn't the woods, but it helped some. It gave him some room to breathe.

The herds were becoming more aggressive and cutting them off from certain routes. Smaller groups were connecting and forming larger herds. They were running out of options. The night before they had slept in the cars on the road after they started having trouble with the pickup. It was running roughly and it was getting too dark to do anything about it. Daryl stayed awake all night. It was as if he didn't want to fall asleep. Carol watched him pacing in front of the truck for half the night refusing Rick's suggestion that he try to get some rest. It hurt to see him in such a state of mental anguish. She wanted to leave the cab to go talk to him, but something about the agitated way he was moving about told her that it wasn't a good idea. But she couldn't just close her eyes to his suffering and go to sleep either. When he caught her staring at him, he stopped his pacing long enough to glare at her, and then he walked swiftly past the side of the truck, cursing under his breath, only to resume his pacing at the rear of the vehicle. Eventually, she succumbed to sleep, but it was restless and her dreams were full of ghosts.

In the morning, they weren't able to get the truck started. While underneath it, Daryl discovered the engine was leaking oil and muttered something about a short in the dash which prevented them from figuring it out until now. _Musta caught on the fence when Carol drove through it,_ he thought as he recalled the day they had gotten the truck. He crawled out from underneath the truck and looked at the distress and disappointment in all the faces as they wondered what they were going to do. He was angry with himself for that whole fiasco, and he kicked the front tire in frustration. He had let them all down.

"Fuck!"

Rick saw him unraveling. He approached Daryl cautiously and touched him on the shoulder reassuringly. Daryl drew back from the contact but didn't shrug him off completely. "It'll be okay," Rick promised. "We'll take what we can and come back for the rest later."

Daryl absorbed the confidence the man extended to him and nodded accordingly.

They loaded what they could into the Suburban and the Hyundai. Carol hesitated at the back of the Suburban wondering if she should squeeze into the back seat next to Carl. After watching Daryl's outburst, she wasn't sure she should intrude into his space.

"You comin'?" Daryl eyed her inquiringly, settling the matter for her.

She looked at him and nodded, swinging her pack onto her back as she walked over to the bike.

The feel of her arms wrapped around his waist grounded Daryl. _S'gonna be okay_, he reminded himself as Rick's words echoed in his head. _Keep it together._

A few hours down the road the group spotted a solitary house set off from the road a bit, nearly hidden by a grove of trees. There was a large grey truck parked under the carport and a black luxury sedan parked in the driveway behind it. Daryl was relieved when they pulled over. The fatigue was setting in and blurring his vision. An acrid stench emanated from the house as he approached it with Rick and Carl close behind. There was something familiar about the reek to Daryl, but he couldn't quite place it. It gnawed at his gut. He didn't like the feeling. When he opened the door, the stale chemical smell assaulted him first.

"Shit," he muttered as he recognized the odor. "Fuckin' tweakers." He paused and turned to Rick before the door was fully opened. "Can't stay here. It's a goddamn lab."

Rick gave him a puzzled look and pushed open the door, stepping inside with his gun raised. He knew they were out there, but Rick had never actually seen a meth lab before in all his years on the police force. He held up his other hand to his nose as the rotten smell of dead flesh accosted him. A swarm of flies was buzzing around.

"Carl, go wait by the cars," he ordered, turning to face the boy.

"But, Dad-"

"This is not open for debate, son."

Carl glowered at his father, but compliantly sulked away. Rick and Daryl continued through the hallway into the house. Two bodies with gunshot wounds in their heads were slumped in chairs at the kitchen table and what looked like the half-eaten remains of a third body covered the floor in front of the sink. Hundreds of tiny bags filled with pink crystals sat in piles on the table, spilled from a small, half-opened duffel bag on the floor, and lay scattered across the floor. There was blood splattered across the table and on the wall behind the bodies. A walker with a gunshot wound in the chest came shuffling around the corner and Daryl shot a bolt through its left eye without hesitating. After they had gone through the rest of the house to make sure it was clear, they returned to the scene in the kitchen.

"Looks like a deal gone bad," Daryl assessed. He was no detective, but it was fairly obvious.

Rick agreed as he pulled a handgun off one of the bodies seated at the table, swatting away the flies as he did. He found another one lying on the floor near a large bloodstain. There was an assault rifle resting in the corner against the wall next to the other seated body. Searching the area, Daryl located a few boxes of rounds for the rifle and some bullets for the handgun. The keys for the truck sitting in the driveway were inside the front pocket of the jeans one of the seated bodies was wearing.

On their way out the door, Daryl stopped to look back at the scene and thought about his brother. Merle would never have left the drugs behind. For the first time, Daryl was actually relieved his brother wasn't with him. Daryl hated when Merle was high because he turned into a total prick just like their father and made Daryl's life hell. Feeling guilty over his thoughts, Daryl felt his chest tighten. Merle was an asshole, but he was still his brother, and Daryl wondered if he'd ever see him again.

* * *

><p>The evening sky was starless. There was an eerie silence to which Carol had still not grown accustomed that filled the air. They were held up in a ranch-style house in a small town and Daryl was in his usual position on the outskirts of the group. She was beginning to wonder if he truly preferred it that way or if he still believed he didn't belong with the rest. When the others were gathering and coming together, he would always volunteer for watch. Although a lot had transpired since their days at the quarry, he had never completely integrated himself. He was sitting on the steps of the back porch staring off into the icy blackness when she brought their paltry dinner to him. She had started bringing two plates whenever there was something to serve so that he wouldn't have to eat alone. It wasn't much, but it was all they had. After she apologetically handed him his plate, she sat down on the steps next to him and rested her back against the porch post.<p>

"You cook it?" he inquired suspiciously after he thanked her.

"Yes, Lori and I did. Maggie's still banned from the kitchen," she reported. "She's resting in the back bedroom."

Maggie's cough had gotten progressively worse in the span of a few days until she was coughing and sneezing all day. Hershel had examined her shortly after her cough appeared and informed them that since she wasn't running a fever it likely wasn't anything more serious than a common cold. Even so, everyone thought it would be best to keep her away from the others and make her wear a face mask, so it wouldn't spread to them, too. Carol had felt bad about Maggie's isolation and made her some hot chamomile tea earlier from her personal stash. Carol had sat and talked with her until Glenn came back with T-Dog from their quest around the neighborhood to find some cold medicine.

Daryl nodded. "How's she feelin'?" he asked before he started shoveling the reconstituted stew into his mouth with the spoon.

She pondered the question briefly. "Better, I think. Especially since Glenn returned." She shot him a playful grin. Her eyes sparkled brilliantly with innuendo.

"Those love birds can't keep their damn hands off each other," he scoffed, rolling his eyes away. Her eyes spelled trouble for him so he had to avoid looking directly at them or he could lose himself again.

"I think it's cute," Carol asserted, not failing to notice the pink tinge developing on the shy hunter's cheeks. She thought it was beautiful to see something precious flourishing in a time where everything had fallen apart and turned ugly. It gave her hope in humanity.

"You think everythin's cute," he grumbled into his plate.

Carol smiled at his teasing. It was something he rarely did with her. But then she grew sad as she thought about his dismissal. She wondered how much hurt and pain he must be carrying to always be so quick to disregard the good things that people were capable of. As if hope was something dangerous and a thing to be reviled.

They finished their meal in silence. When he was finished, he put his empty plate on the step next to him, took out his knife, and began sharpening it. Carol listened to the rhythmic rasping of the blade against the stone as she organized her thoughts. Even if it made him uncomfortable, she was going to express her concerns. He deserved that much.

"I'm not gonna pretend to know what happened to you out there," she stated after a while, "and I don't need you to tell me if you don't want to. But you need to know that those people in there care about you." She turned to him. "I care about you. We all see you hurting. You act like you don't belong but you're a part of this group, Daryl. Everyone in there has nothing but respect for you. Don't you dare believe otherwise."

The moment she began speaking, he stopped the motion of the knife. He sat there for a long time absorbing her words, fighting the urge to flee from the intimacy she was conveying to him. His face twitched as she spoke as if he were trying to defend against the credibility of her declaration. There was still a part of him that could not believe it as if was too much to hope for. But he trusted Carol more than he'd ever trusted anyone. So he knew her comments were genuine and that she'd meant them. As he sat there and allowed her words to penetrate his defenses and expand his outlook, he felt another, deeper part of himself growing more assured.

He put the knife away thoughtfully and stared hard at his boots as he tried to process everything. The words started flowing before his brain could interfere with objections. "My ol' man was…" he stopped. He didn't need to explain. She had seen his scars. "Son of a bitch's been dead for a while now, but he's still here." He pointed to his head to indicate what he meant. "Sometimes, it's just Merle up there bossin' me around like he always did, bein' the oldest an' all. Just how it was. Never knew any different. But now," he shook his head, "s'like I can't think straight no more with them yappin' at me. S'all confused." He shrugged. "Whatever I do, feels like I'm lettin'm down somehow."

It was true. Something was shifting inside Daryl. He couldn't put a finger on it exactly, but he was feeling guilty about it, like it was a bad thing. It was almost like he was letting go of being a Dixon. Like he was trading up for a new family. One that was taking care of him in a way he never allowed himself to long for because it was asking for too much. A family that made him feel good inside. And he felt he was being disloyal for wanting it.

"I guess Merle's only repeatin' what the ol' man beat into us. He's a lot like the bastard in some ways. But Merle, he always looked out for me, or I thought he did. He left…was gone a lot, but he always came back. Now he's just…gone. I depended on him for so long, I guess. Dunno anymore." His voice grew more uncertain.

Carol understood what he was saying because she could relate to his problem. "Men like your father, Merle…Ed," she was taking a leap here and hoped he wouldn't chew her out for making assumptions, "they get inside your head. Make you think you deserve the abuse. Make you question yourself. The only way they win is if you believe them. It's hard not to believe something that you've heard so many times. It starts to feel like the truth. But it's not. You taught me that."

She smiled as she reached across and laid her hand on top of his. It burned where she touched him, but he didn't flinch. He looked at her with incredulity. He couldn't imagine she'd learned anything from him. What the hell did he know about anything?

She saw the doubt arise in his eyes so she continued, "You believed in me. You taught me I could be strong. I didn't know I could be until you showed me how."

"You are strong," he quickly avowed. "Strongest person I ever met." He wasn't lying. She'd endured so much but she never complained about what she'd been through. She never let it show in the way she treated other people. She was the antithesis of his father. The guilt twisted inside when he thought about how unfairly he'd judged her before he even really knew her. He had been so wrong about her it was criminal.

She smiled at him with tears at the brim of her eyes from his validation. "You are, too. You're stronger than them, Daryl. You're a grown ass man," her tone grew lighter as she smiled at him. "You told me so yourself. Maybe it's time you stopped listening to them and do what you think is best instead. We're your family now, too," she asserted. "And we believe in you."

He searched her eyes and found only confirmation of himself mirrored back in them. She made him feel unbroken. He gifted her a lazy grin as the integrity of her sentiments fused to his soul.

The rarity of his smile made Carol feel elated, like she'd suddenly struck gold with this connection. She realized her hand was still resting on his so she gave it an honorary squeeze before withdrawing it while their eyes lingered in full appreciation of the other. After a few moments, she gathered the dishes and headed back inside, but not before pausing at the doorway.

"We want what's best for you, Daryl. Whatever _you _think that is."

Later that night, the group dispersed. Rick and T-Dog were on watch. Glenn was staying with Maggie in the back bedroom. Carl and Lori had retired to one of the front bedrooms. Carol had made sure Beth and Hershel were comfortably settled in the twin beds in the remaining room. Carol knew that sleeping on the floor had not been kind to Hershel's back and Beth was still very lost and scared. Carol thought that sleeping in a bed might help create some illusion of normalcy to help ease her nerves. She felt Beth deserved as much kindness as she could show the girl.

Daryl made Carol take the couch while he set himself up in the oversized chair and ottoman. Exhausted, Carol sunk down into the warmth of the sleeping bag Daryl had given her. She thought about all the ways he'd helped her and her chest grew warm with gratitude. "Good night." She smiled cheerfully at him before she turned off the lantern.

"G'night," he replied to her in the darkness. He was actually hoping it would be.

Knowing Daryl was nearby helped Carol to fall asleep quickly. He listened closely for her quiet, steady breathing. The knowledge that she was safely sleeping brought him a sense of peace that helped him to unwind. Closing his eyes, he thought about what she'd said to him earlier and how she made him feel accepted. He felt his hand grow warm as he recalled her touch. As he continued to think of her, the warmth spread from his hand throughout his whole body. Soon, he too, was finally sleeping peacefully.

* * *

><p>It was midmorning when Carol left with Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog to scout an abandoned factory they had discovered nearby. Rick wanted to investigate its potential for more long-term residency. Maggie still wasn't feeling well enough to think clearly and that was a dangerous thing on a run. Earlier that morning, Daryl reluctantly elected to stay behind to focus on hunting in the woods at the outer edge of town. Even with the strict rations, they had been barely surviving on the MREs and freeze-dried meals that remained. None of them had had a decent meal since the feast at the truck stop. Feeding them all was a priority. Nevertheless, he had mixed feelings about going off on his own while the others went into unknown territory. He was worried about Carol but he felt like he had to put his feelings aside for the sake of the group. He was learning to trust that they would look out for each other. Even as he was headed towards the grove of trees, he had found the sentiment strange that he was preferring to be in their company over being alone in the woods. But he had still hoped the time spent on the hunting trip would bring him the serenity that he desperately needed as well as a meal for their bellies.<p>

The others had taken two vehicles for the run. It was a large area to cover that was best managed with two teams starting from opposite ends of the property. Rick and Glenn started at the north entrance and T-Dog and Carol began in the south. When they arrived, it was clear the land wasn't well defended. Large portions of the fence surrounding it had fallen down or was missing altogether in some places. There had been a few walkers meandering around the muddy grounds and inside the small series of interconnected buildings that they were able to eliminate with only a moderate effort. But the factory turned out to be a bust. It was a dilapidated structure and a portion of the roof had previously collapsed leaving the inside partly flooded from the recent rains. Disheartened, the teams began to split up and return to their vehicles.

"We'll meet you back at the house," Rick stated as he and Glenn turned and walked down the narrow corridor towards the north end of the factory.

"Well, shit, this was all over before it even started," T-Dog joked with Carol as they headed in the opposite direction. "I guess it's one of those things that just looks better from far away."

"Rick had his hopes up. He's getting worried we won't find a place before the baby comes."

"I don't blame him. That baby is gonna complicate things real quickly." His tone suddenly grew serious.

"There's still time," Carol said hopefully.

Suddenly, a chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling and landed at Carol's feet. Stopping abruptly, she looked up to see where it came from.

"Carol! Look out!" T-Dog shouted as he pushed her backwards.

He watched her stumble and fall to the ground as the ceiling crashed down in front of her. There was a large pile of debris blocking the passage between them.

"T-Dog!" Carol's voice called out in a panic from the other side of the rubble.

"I'm okay." T-Dog said. He tried to move some of the debris but it was too heavy. "Carol, there's no way around this. Hurry up and make your way to the other entrance and catch up with Rick and Glenn."

"Okay. You be careful! The sooner we're out of this place the better."

T-Dog made his way out of the building quickly and started towards the truck. He looked back to see if he could see the others when he noticed a herd of walkers heading into the complex.

"Oh, shit," he said to himself as he turned and ran towards the truck as fast as he could. Luckily, the walkers hadn't spotted him and he made it back to the truck without incident. He wasn't sure what to do next. But he waited for a while just in case, hoping that Carol made it to Rick and Glenn before the herd came through. When she didn't show up, T-Dog prayed that she'd made it safely to the others and drove back to the house.

The Hyundai was there when he arrived later that afternoon. When he walked through the door he saw all the concerned faces suddenly let out a breath.

"What took you so long?" Rick looked concerned.

"Herd came through. Had to wait for the road to clear up," T-Dog explained.

"A herd?" Lori's voice was shrill with apprehension.

Daryl walked swiftly towards the door with a sharp crease in his brow. He looked out through the screen. "Where's Carol?"

T-Dog's heart sunk. "I thought she was with Rick and Glenn. We got separated. I waited just in case, but she never made it to the truck."

"So, you just left her there?" Daryl yelled angrily.

"It wasn't like that," T-Dog clarified. "There was nothin' I could do. There were too many of 'em." He knew that was the truth, but he still felt guilty anyway.

"What'd you do, drop the key?" The bitter accusation just flew out of Daryl's mouth in anger. He wasn't even thinking about what he was saying. It was a dirty fight to bring up such an old wound like that, but he was too angry in the moment to care. Worse, he was scared. Carol was alone. It felt like Merle and Andrea all over again. Daryl didn't want to lose anyone else. Not her. He felt like his chest was going to explode.

"Hey," Rick tried calming him as he crossed the room towards the other men. Rick knew Daryl had a hard time keeping a level head when he was angry.

"What?" T-Dog was stunned and insulted by Daryl's attack. "Oh, come on, that's just low, man. How long you been waitin' to bring that shit up again, huh? All this time, you've just been nursin' that damn wound. It was an accident! Forget about all the times I saved your ass. Shit, I done paid that debt a long ass time ago."

He watched as Daryl started pacing. T-Dog knew Daryl was worried about Carol. He wasn't blind to the way the man looked at her, although he wondered if perhaps Carol was. He took a breath and tried to calmly explain again. "Look, the ceiling collapsed. I couldn't get to her. I told her to catch up with Rick and Glenn on the other side. The herd probably came through before she could do that. There's a good chance she's still stuck in the building."

The guilt was tearing Daryl apart on the inside. His thoughts were a gloomy storm. Hunting had been a waste of time. Even the squirrels were hiding, it seemed. He hated returning empty-handed. He should have gone with them. He should have been there to protect her. "We gotta go get her!"

"Take it easy," Rick cautioned him motioning with his hand for Daryl to calm down. "T said there was a herd. We can't just put everyone in danger to find one person who may very likely be dead."

"Dead?" Daryl repeated the word in disbelief. "She could be trapped or hurt! But you automatically assume she's dead? She ain't! Don't you fuckin' tell me to take it easy while she's out there alone!" Daryl's wrath was barely restrained and now directed at Rick. His eyes narrowed to icy daggers. His worst fears were coming true. "Are we all that easily expendable? Or is it just her? She fuckin' trusted you!"

What he couldn't say was that he had trusted Rick to protect her. He had started to trust them all and he was wondering if he would come to regret that. Maybe he had been right before. He couldn't depend on anybody but himself.

"Rick, we can't just leave her out there. We owe her that much. What if that were Carl? Daryl's right. She's smart and she's strong. She's probably still out there alive, waiting for us. She needs us." Lori's words were firm and convincing.

Daryl looked at Lori, a sudden growing respect for her rising to the surface for the way she fought for her friend. It was admirable. He acknowledged her assertiveness with a grateful nod.

"We ain't leavin' her behind," he glared at Rick challenging his decision. He took a step towards him, chest first. His fists tightened into white stone. He would fight Rick if he had to.

'None of us want that," Lori said, stepping between them before Daryl got into Rick's face. "Do we?"

She turned to Rick who was staring at all the unhappy faces around him. He was their leader, but they were mounting a coup against him. He felt it was in his best interest to surrender.

"No," he relented finally and his eyes steeled as they met Daryl's defiant glare. Rick disagreed, but he needed Daryl on his side. "We'll go and find her."

"You bet your ass we will." Daryl spun on his heels and exited, quickly thrusting the door open. "We're wastin' daylight!"


	13. Fierce Beauty

**AN:** Lucky #13! You guys are so awesome. I love reading your reviews and PMs. Sorry this chapter took so long to get out. I've been distracted and struggling with time management issues. Oh, and to complicate my life more, I started writing another multi-chapter fic_._ I know it's totally crazy! But I'm happy to be putting my madness to good use and enabling you all. _My pain is your gain! _This one turned out to be much longer than I planned. I was going to break it into two chapters, then I thought,_ nah!_

Pardon my errors and please let me know what you think! - jb

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13: Fierce Beauty<strong>

"Carol! Look out!" T-Dog shouted as he pushed her away from the falling debris.

Suddenly, she was stumbling backwards, twisting her ankle as she fell to the ground. The shotgun fell from her shoulder but the clatter of it was overpowered by the deafening crash as chunks of brick, metal, and plaster collapsed into the narrow hallway. Small rays of light were shining through the area where the roof had completely buckled and caved in.

She panicked when she noticed T-Dog had disappeared. Had he been buried?

"T-Dog!"

"I'm okay." His reassuring voice came from the other side. She heard the debris shifting. "Carol, there's no way around this. Hurry up and make your way to the other entrance and catch up with Rick and Glenn."

"Okay. You be careful! The sooner we're out of this place the better." She stood up and winced as pain shot up her leg from her ankle. She picked up the shotgun and began to hobble down the hallway, doing her best to ignore the throbbing ache. It wasn't the first time she had to cope with an injury.

She headed to the main building towards the north entrance, trying her best to move as quickly as she could. When she finally reached the end of the north corridor and exited the building, she saw Rick and Glenn getting into the Suburban. She was just about to call out to them to tell them to wait when she heard the moaning and shuffling from behind her on her left. Her stomach lurched.

There were dozens of them swarming through the opening of the fence and across the barren lot. _Too many, _she thought. She couldn't count them all. She knew she wasn't going to make it to Rick and Glenn in time. She saw them get into the truck unaware of the herd moving in. _At least they're safe._ She worried about T-Dog and hoped he made it back to the truck safely. She opened the door of the factory again and closed it behind her as the walkers, now alerted to her presence, started stumbling towards her. There was nothing to fasten the door with. _Think!_

She quickly assessed her lack of options and moved back towards the main building where she remembered seeing a decaying staircase. _Thump, thump, thump._ She could hear the walkers throwing themselves against the door trying to get through. Carol ascended the rusted steel and concrete staircase up towards a raised platform above the main floor. The foot of her good ankle twisted on one of the steps near the top as the concrete crumbled, sending twinges up both legs as she fell forward, dropping the shotgun from her hand. It clattered noisily as it slid down the stairs out of reach. She bit into her lip to stifle the moan she nearly let loose, silently regretting that she hadn't taken one of the handguns instead. _Need to be more efficient_, she scolded herself for her clumsiness.

_Thwack!_ She heard a cracking sound as the entrance door slammed open and its echo bounced down the corridor. She noticed two doors against the wall at the top of the platform. She quickly retrieved the gun just as she heard the walkers begin to shuffle down the hallway towards the main room. Her heart was pounding with a ferocious intensity as she made her way back up the stairs again, avoiding the crumbled area, towards the second door which was opened. It was just an empty room with a panel of broken windows lining one side. The windows were filled with jagged pieces of glass and too small to climb out of. Old turquoise-colored paint was peeling away from the wall and some of the plaster from the ceiling and walls was in piles of dirty rubble and dead leaves scattered across the splintering wood floor. She shut the door behind her, but there was no way to lock it. Timorously, she backed away from the door into the corner of the room. The blood continued to hammer in her ears. She was trapped.

_You're so stupid_, Ed's voice echoed in Carol's mind. _Can't do anything right._ _You know they ain't comin' back for you. They're gonna leave you behind just like that blonde bitch._ Cowering, she sunk her shoulders against the wall as echoes of Ed's cruel laughter clamored along with the drumming in her ears. _You're dead meat._

She stayed there, frozen in fear, not knowing how much time was passing. Minutes? Hours? Ultimately, it was the throbbing ache in her ankles that brought her back into her body.

Finding her breath, she reached a shaky hand into her pocket for her knife. Her fingers brushed up against another object. She pulled the stone from her pocket to look at it. It shimmered in her palm and its golden sheen reminded her of the color of Sophia's hair. As she rubbed her fingers against its smooth surface, she took a deep breath. _You can be strong, _she told herself. _You can do this. You can do this. You can do this._ Gripping the stone in her palm, she repeated Daryl's words over and over like a mantra and found that they gave her courage. Her heart slowed and the drumming in her ears ceased, allowing her to think more clearly. Daryl believed in her. _You ain't stupid, _he had reassured her. She was smart enough to get herself out of this. She could find her way back to the others. _To hell with Ed,_ she thought shoving the stone back in her pocket and pulling out her knife with conviction. As she released the blade she could almost see Daryl's subdued grin flashing back at her in approval. Feeling braver, she moved away from the comfort of the corner.

Both ankles were hurting now as she limped towards the broken windows, hoping to get a view of her current situation. The afternoon sun was still fairly high in the cloudless sky, suggesting she had at least a couple of hours before nightfall. From her position, she couldn't see any walkers, but she knew that didn't mean they weren't down there. Some of them were probably downstairs waiting for her. She knew from Dr. Jenner that they were not likely smart enough to climb the stairs on their own out of curiosity. They had none. They were creatures driven purely by instinct, not intellect. And she was fairly certain they had not seen her to know where she had hidden. She also knew the walkers were uncoordinated, and if any walkers did climb the stairs they would have considerable difficulty. She could use that to her advantage. She figured she could wait until most of the walkers had moved on and then sneak her way back to the road. It was only a few miles back to the house. It would be hell on her ankles, but it was her only option.

She wasn't naive enough to think the others would return for her. No one really knew what had happened to Andrea after that herd had engulfed the farm. But Rick had made it clear to everyone that it had been too much of a risk to go back. Frankly, she didn't blame him. He wanted to protect the group. She could understand that need. She was a mother.

She never would have willingly placed her daughter in harm's way. Carol had taken plenty of beatings from Ed just so he would keep his hands off their daughter. She wished she could have done more to protect her. She still had dreams that it was her instead of Sophia that had been chased down the embankment that day. But every dream ended the same; she awoke to the gut-wrenching truth–her little girl was gone and was never coming back.

Little by little, she was learning to make peace with the loss and to forgive herself. It wasn't easy by any means. By far, it was the hardest thing she ever had to do–to live with the loss. For Carol, survival was a daily act of atonement, of learning to right the wrongs she believed she'd done or not done, of living with them. She never believed that she had enough power to make any decisions, that things could change–that she could. Her fear had been too disabling. That's why she never tried to leave Ed. But Ed and Sophia were both gone now. In the end, she had to learn to live with herself. This blossoming belief in herself was giving her a new perspective on life. It allowed her to take more risks, to challenge herself, to move outside of her comfort zone. She was learning she was capable of doing the hard things that were required now. And sometimes, she just had to do things on her own.

There was no way to escape the factory except the way she came in. If she was lucky, the walkers hadn't heard her creep upstairs, so she stayed quiet and waited with her knife ready just in case. She sat down with her back up against the wall at first before she thought better about it. If she planned to get far, she needed to rest her ankles. She turned her body to lie down on the floor, and then she carefully swung her legs up the rotting wall. She hoped that by elevating her feet she could keep the swelling of her ankles down.

She lay there for a long while, just waiting. It was peaceful, actually. Doing nothing was often an invitation to an onslaught of self-criticism and self-doubt. But something had shifted within her. Instead of dwelling on her own problems and imperfections, her thoughts turned to the small band of survivors she had grown to love dearly and was highly motivated to return to. She thought about Lori who grew more anxious every day about the birth of the baby. Carol wanted to be there for her to support her friend. She knew it was hard enough to cope with the changing hormones and normal fears of motherhood, but Lori's situation was more complicated considering the stress of their new lifestyle and the rift in her marriage. Carol didn't want Lori to feel like she was on her own.

She also thought of Maggie and Glenn. The beauty of their love and dedication to one another gave her hope that even good things could be possible in this new world. She thought of young Carl and his struggle to understand the world and find his place in it. And Beth's honesty and compassion. The girl didn't have a mean bone in her body. It made Carol worry about her. She thought of Rick, who was struggling to do his best to keep them all safe and to cope with the things he'd done in order to do so. She thought of Hershel's gentle wisdom and healer's heart. Of T-Dog's kindness and laughter. Of Daryl's stubborn determination. Thinking about everyone filled her heart and gave her hope. Each of them had given her a reason to get up in the morning. It was their love that was worth fighting for.

Carol's thoughts drifted to the talk she had with Daryl the night before. Daryl was only just figuring out who he was. He was struggling to become his own man away from the destructive shadows of Merle and his father. And he had come so far. He was actually starting to open up to her a little and had shared about what was going on in that head of his. He had allowed himself to be vulnerable with her, disclosing some of the root feelings that lay underneath his angry mask. She was proud of him. The two of them had developed a closeness that she never had with a man before. She most certainly never had it with Ed. She felt understood and respected by Daryl. He had seen her strength before she had known it was even there. In a similar way, she had seen his thoughtful concern of others before he had acknowledged it himself. They were helping each other to overcome their deepest fears and insecurities by recognizing and honoring the good parts of each other that had been overlooked by others–and themselves. As she realized this, she felt the warmth spreading from her center. Daryl had become very important to her. She appreciated the way he looked out for her. He made her feel good about herself. They were friends. _Maybe we can have something more someday._ The thought put a smile on her face. Her and Daryl. _Together._ She snorted. The idea of it seemed so absurd that she quietly laughed at herself for even imaging it.

_That's enough daydreaming._

Carol rolled her legs off the wall and sat up. She wondered if it would be safe to leave the room. She was ready. Pulling the shotgun shells out of her bag, she stuffed them into her pockets. She wanted them to be close in case she needed to get to them quickly. She took a few sips of water from the bottle that she had stored in her pack as she prepared herself to leave. Finally standing, she hobbled over to the door, opening it quietly to peer out. There were no walkers on the platform. She opened the door a little wider and crept to the edge of the platform and looked down.

There were a few more than a half dozen walkers that she could surmise from her quick scan of the room. Her heart picked up its pace. Four of them were directly below her in the large room and there were three over where the hallway began. Getting the walkers to the staircase was her best bet. She secured the shotgun strap across her shoulder so it wouldn't fall again and tapped the corroded metal handrail with her knife. It made a clanging sound that alerted the walkers below. They turned towards the sound reflexively and caught her movement as she descended halfway down the steps. Her breath hitched. _You can do this._

The walkers started shambling over to the staircase. The first one to reach it tripped on the first step. Another approached the opening by the handrail. She took the opportunity and quickly descended on them, stabbing them both in quick succession through their ears. The second one attempting to ascend tried to grab her arm, but she pulled it towards her instead and stabbed it through the eye. She tossed the body to the right side to narrow the pathway up the stairs. She felt a rush from the kills as her muscles became flooded with an excited energy.

The next two came at her at the same time so she vigorously kicked away the one on the right near the handrail first. Full of adrenaline, she barely noticed the jolting sensation radiating from her ankle. She stabbed the walker to her left as it snarled at her. Her knife got stuck so she had to step on its skull to get it out. It made a crunching sound as she crushed its skull and was rewarded by an eruption of putrid goo as she jerked the blade free. By the time she got it out, three more walkers were swarming the bottom of the staircase so she backed up slowly so they couldn't reach her underneath the handrail. Her heart was beating furiously. Luckily, the procession of walkers up the flight of stairs had slowed because of the heap of bodies laying at the bottom and one side of the staircase allowed only one walker to ascend at a time. But she barely had time to catch her breath as one of the walkers started to crawl underneath the handrail. She used her hand to grasp the railing to steady herself as she watched the walkers staggering up the steps.

A few more walkers came in from the hallway attracted by the noise of the struggle. When the first walker on the stairs got halfway up, she lifted her leg and kicked it backwards. She didn't even feel a sting of pain. The walkers behind it fell like dominoes and tumbled over the one trying to crawl through. Again, she descended, piercing the one crawling in the eye because it was closest before moving on to the next. She swiftly rolled the bodies over to the edge. The second one she pushed fell over the handrail and made a loud splattering noise as it hit the concrete below.

_Well, if there are anymore nearby that will certainly attract them._

She didn't give up, she kept at it, moving gracefully up and down the stairs, kicking and slaying the walkers, and tossing them over the railing. Energized, she was unaware of the pain in her ankles as the adrenaline drove her onward. The bottom of the staircase was beginning to crumble from the impact, making it harder for the walkers to ascend so it forced her down lower on the stairs. She used the handrail for leverage, kicking the walkers away so she could prevent herself from getting blindsided and allowing her to kill one at a time. When finally the last walker was down she rested her hands on her knees to catch her breath. She looked over at the hallway and saw there were no more approaching.

Carol examined the casualties, making sure she hadn't missed any that still might be gnashing its teeth, but nothing was moving. She didn't count them, she didn't feel the need to keep score the way Carl did trying to prove himself a man. But there were more than a dozen corpses. Taking a deep breath, she felt proud of herself for taking action, for taking care of herself. A current of euphoria was charging through her. However, she didn't allow herself to dwell in the feeling of accomplishment because she still had so far to go before she was home again. She couldn't rest. Knowing this, she staggered her way through the slain corpses towards the narrow corridor and peeked around the corner, holding onto the wall to take another ragged breath. It was empty. With swift strides, she made her way down the hallway towards the door. The jam around it had cracked from the force of the walkers. Carefully, she pulled the door open and was met with a stern crossbow in her face.

"Daryl?" she gasped.

Daryl lowered the crossbow, narrowing his eyes as he inspected Carol. An expanding force surged inside his chest and the skin under his clothes began to hum as a flood of feelings passed through him. Dumbfounded, he couldn't quite believe it was her. She was covered in plaster dust and black walker brains. Her hair was disheveled; she looked like she'd been through hell. But there was a rosy glow upon her cheeks underneath the splatter of gore and it made the sparkle in her eyes glow even brighter. She was holding the knife firmly in her hand the way he had shown her and it was dripping with a shiny, black ooze. Her face was fierce and determined, like a beautiful petite warrior from one of Carl's comic books, as she wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm. At some point, he had stopped breathing altogether.

"Lucky I didn't shoot. You alright?" he asked, finally catching his breath. The fear of having lost her was still twisting in his gut, and now simply seeing her alive, this vision of fierce beauty, was filling him with an acute buzzing heat. He blinked his eyes and still couldn't believe she was standing so proudly in front of him. His hands burned with a distressed desire. He wanted to reach out and touch her to make sure she was real. But he didn't. He felt suddenly paralyzed by her presence.

"I'm fine," she assured him, equally breathless and surprised to see him. She was momentarily transfixed by the intense way he was looking at her. A warm flush spread rapidly across her body. "I wasn't expecting to see you. What are you doing here?"

He drew back from her like he'd been slapped. His eyes were smoldering with want and anger as he studied the whole of her. _She don't need you, _he thought_._ It stung.

"You're a piece o' work," he scowled heatedly as her words rankled him. His fingers betrayed him as they still ached to touch her. He wanted to feel the heat of her pressed against him. To feel her blood pulsing under his fingers. At the same time, he wanted to throttle her as he felt the shame of his own impotence rising. She still didn't understand that he would not leave her behind. He couldn't leave her. Whether she needed his help or not. He was angry that she doubted his loyalty. "Here for your scrawny ass. Why else?"

Carol felt another blast of heat through her veins as the intensity of Daryl's voice increased. "But there was a herd, Daryl. It was dangerous. You could've gotten killed!" She raised her hands in the air in frustration before realizing she was still holding onto the knife and waving it around like a lunatic. Furrowing her brow at her mistake, she quickly wiped it on her pants, retracted the blade, and thrust it into her pocket. She didn't understand why Daryl was angry with her or why he would put himself in danger for her. Before she could ask, T-Dog and Rick suddenly appeared, diverting the growing pressure that was building between them.

"Oh, Carol, thank god," Rick gushed in his relief to see her alive.

"Whoa!" T-Dog stated when he took a good look at her. "Look at you."

"T!" She cried joyously, embracing the man when she saw he was alive.

Daryl's stomach tightened at the ease of their embrace. He looked away bitterly and took a few steps inside.

"You alone in here?" Daryl inquired suspiciously as he eyed the empty corridor.

"There were a couple of walkers, but I took care of them," she stated, releasing T-Dog.

"A _couple_ of walkers, huh?" T-Dog smirked, shaking his head in disbelief as he pulled away from Carol. He held her by the shoulders as he looked her up and down again. "Damn, Slayer, you must have nine lives or some shit. What happened?"

"I wasn't sure if you made it," she chattered energetically to T-Dog. "By the time I got over here, I saw Rick and Glenn getting into the Suburban. That's when I saw them coming. The walkers. There were so many. I didn't want to call out and put them in danger. So, I hid upstairs and waited for them to pass. I was just checking to see if the coast was clear so I could make my way back to the house."

Daryl swung around again to glare at her. A hot cyclone of emotions churned in his eyes. His earlier fears for her safety, his guilt for not going on the run, the shame over his desire to have her close, the pain of his obsolescence, his jealousy of T-Dog. But the anger was so much easier for him to feel than the other unpleasant emotions. It made him feel more powerful. He cloaked himself in it like a security blanket.

"On your own?" he upbraided her harshly. His anger drew him a step closer to her. His body was pulsating uncomfortably as he shortened the distance between them.

"Didn't think I had a choice," Carol snapped, facing him squarely. The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins, fueling her defense.

She was surprised by the fire inside her, but she didn't like the tone of Daryl's voice. _If he wants a fight, I'll give him one._

"I had to do _something_," she laid into him. "Should I have waited to be rescued? Would you?"

"That ain't the point," Daryl growled, jutting his face right in front of hers. The sweat rolled thick and heavy down his neck. He was so close to her now he could feel her warmth permeating his skin. He was feverish and on the verge of losing control, of crossing some line. He curled his fingers as if to restrain himself.

"Then what is?" she challenged him, lifting her chin and placing her hand on her hip.

She stared hard into his eyes, still wondering what had set him off, but refusing to back down. She wasn't afraid of Daryl. She wasn't afraid of his anger. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. It never even crossed her mind. Yet, she began to feel a fluttering of nerves in her belly as he pushed himself closer to her. There was something powerful in his eyes that captivated her and made her want to surrender. Her skin began to tingle.

And then briefly, she saw something flash across his eyes, his fear. _He's afraid of something._ Upon this realization, she began to soften.

The heat radiated from her skin as she asserted herself. Her earthy scent wafted upwards, cutting through his anger. The pain of his own confused yearning bled into his awareness. _I want her to need me._ _But she clearly don't._ She was taking care of herself. She was standing up for herself. All at once, the pride he felt for her swelled in his chest. _Givin' her grief for keepin' herself alive._ It made no sense to him why he would do that. He gazed into her blazing blue eyes and he suddenly felt ashamed of himself and his heated anger. _I need her more than she needs me._ At that moment, something in her eyes opened to him as if those blue pools had grown deeper. He felt like he was falling.

"What's this really about?" she asked coolly. She had quickly lost the desire to argue.

"Don't matter," he muttered as the rage left him all at once. But the fire still burned hot on his face. He turned away from her to conceal his embarrassment, feeling unexpectedly exposed.

"Hey," T-Dog interrupted the quarrel. "Best not stand around here yakin' and waitin' for bad company to return."

"T's right," Rick agreed, casting a glance around. "It's not safe to stay here. This structure's too damaged. Last thing we need is another cave-in. Let's get back to the others before it gets dark."

Daryl took a breath and nodded. He started for the door, desperate for some fresh air.

"I like the sound of that. But hold on a sec, I just need some water," Carol stated, suddenly aware of her overwhelming thirst. She unhooked the shotgun from her shoulders, shrugged the backpack to one shoulder and pulled out her water bottle. She greedily consumed the remainder of its contents before letting out a satisfied sigh. "Okay, ready when you are." She shoved the empty bottle back in her bag.

They all turned to leave. Rick headed out first and Daryl followed behind him. Carol limped towards the door carrying her bag on one shoulder. The pain she had been blocking earlier was suddenly in full force. She grimaced with every step.

"You okay?" T-Dog asked her.

She was shifting the bag onto her back again when her ankle suddenly gave out. She cried out as the current of pain shot up her leg, dropping the gun once again. Her body wobbled as she lost her balance.

"Gotcha," T-Dog said, stepping in closer as he grabbed a hold of her to steady her.

Daryl turned back when he heard her agonizing moan. His brow creased with worry. "What is it?"

"My ankles. I twisted them earlier. They're just a little sore now," she said, minimizing the pain.

T-Dog shook his head in disagreement. "She can barely walk, man."

Daryl shifted the weight in his feet as he assessed the situation. T-Dog's arms were wrapped around Carol's waist supporting her. Daryl stifled a growl perched low in his chest and bit the inside of his lip as he fought his emotions. _Damn stubborn woman don't ever ask for help._ Without saying anything, he walked over and slid the bag off her shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. Before Carol could react, he scooped her up in his arms, and carried her outside to the Suburban.

"Okay, sure. I got this. No problem," T-Dog grumbled after them as he picked up the bag and shotgun from the floor.

Daryl couldn't look at Carol as he carried her. He kept his attention focused on the ground ahead of him. Still, the warmth of her against his chest filled him with a strange sense of contentment.

Carol was shocked as he abruptly lifted her off the ground. Her heart even raced a little. She blushed as she recalled her earlier daydream.

"Well, Daryl, you sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet," she teased nervously as he carried her.

"Shut up."


	14. Tidal Shifts

**AN:** Sometimes it's hard not to rush this story and push my feelings onto these characters. We aren't even at Season 3 yet! Although the prison is nearing their horizon. I want it to move while staying true to the slow burn. This one took some time and I still have mixed feelings about. However, it's time to move on and let it go. (Not the story, just the chapter.) Thank you for staying with me. Your lovely reviews fuel my creativity! -jb

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><p><strong>Chapter 14: Tidal Shifts<strong>

She felt the warmth on her thigh, tapping out a gentle rhythm.

"Hey," said a gravelly voice. "We're here."

Carol opened her drowsy eyes and saw Daryl's sincere blue ones intent on her. They seemed unusually close. And his gaze had softened quite a bit from earlier. The sun was sitting low in the horizon and its golden light cast a warm glow on his face. Somehow, he was different. Younger maybe. Indulgent? Maybe it was the light. _Maybe I'm dreaming._

Half asleep with droopy lids, she gave him a sluggish grin. "My hero."

"Stop," he replied, averting his eyes as his cheeks suddenly flushed. He knew she was teasing, but the word got under his skin, and he let it sink in. It filled up the cold, dark hole inside of him. Like a seed, it planted itself deeply, and sprouted a sprig of confidence within him that wasn't there before. The root of it pressed upwards at the corners of his lips, towards the brilliant luminosity of her eyes.

Daringly, he faced her again, enticed by her placid appearance. The tranquility he found in her sky blue eyes seemed to alleviate the lingering storminess he had felt earlier; it completely absorbed him. She was complex; there was something about her that continued to fascinate him. Just when he thought he had her figured out, she surprised him. As much as she stirred in him—all those thoughts, feelings, and _sensations_ that he had difficulty identifying and taming—she also settled him, putting to rest his deepest fears that hid in the feral darkness within him. With her, he was never able to hold onto his anger or doubt very long. She had that soothing effect on him. Like the serenity he found deep in the woods, she drew him into the light.

More than simply reflecting the parts of himself that he had walled off and pretended hadn't been there, she had insisted that he belonged among them. That alone had made her precious to him. Bound by a sense of honor he was only recently discovering he had, he was compelled to take care of her and keep her safe. But she was taking care of herself—or trying to. Clearly, she wasn't the fragile creature he had originally suspected her to be. She was smart, adaptable. Stubbornly independent. He could relate to her despite their differences. More and more, he saw they were alike in many ways. So it wasn't too much of a stretch for him to wonder about her difficulty asking for help. Growing up the way he had, he knew the key to his own survival had been to fend for himself. It was a sign of weakness to rely on others. But he knew, at least with her, that wasn't really the truth. She wasn't weak, she was strong as hell. But she didn't always see it. She had told him time and again that she didn't want to be a burden to others. That she even thought she could be troubled him to no end.

Maybe he just needed to try harder to assimilate himself into the group and accept the intimacy he had been fighting against. He knew he needed people now. And hell, if he could change, maybe he could also help her see she would never be a burden to him. She was a goddamn asset. She fortified the bonds that tethered him to the group and made him want to keep coming back—to her. She gave him hope that despite the devastation around them, his future could be brighter than his wretched past. For all that she'd done for him, he owed it to her to keep trying. Maybe she didn't understand that he wanted to help her because he cared about what happened to her, not because he thought she was incapable. He hated watching her suffer and he was afraid of losing her, what she meant to him, to all of them. She was _important._ But he didn't know how to tell her all of that. He was never good with words. Not like she was.

Maybe he just needed to show her.

He was standing dangerously close to her. Being this close to her filled him with a reckless curiosity that surged through him like the thrill of breaking a rule. Never mind that the rule was self-imposed. His blood was buzzing. Taking a deep breath, he was rewarded with her sweet fragrance and it soothed him into a sort of calm reverie which held him in place. Her eyes were glazed with sleep as he studied her. Freckles were peeking out from under the layer of dried blood, she looked so relaxed, almost happy. _Vulnerable._ He liked the contented look she wore on her face. _Hell, she deserves it._ He felt guilty for disturbing her. Patience was not one of his better qualities when it came to dealing with people, yet there was no need to rush in this moment, and he found himself not wanting to. Quite unexpectedly, he let himself linger a bit. Admiringly, he held her quiet gaze as the stony walls crumbled in his chest. He felt himself letting go of more than just his breath as he exhaled.

Carol's heavy-lidded blink broke his trance, bringing him back to the task at hand.

"C'mon, sleepyhead. You even awake yet?" he questioned her lightly.

Surprised by his own sense of ease in the moment, he boldly reached out to touch her, hoping to rouse her gently.

Almost imperceptibly, she felt his feathery, uncertain touch glide down her scalp. Goosebumps trickled down her arm.

"I _must_ be dreaming. You're so...different."

"I am, huh?" Strange as it was, he felt it, too. An inward tidal shift as he allowed himself to just be with her. It was exhilarating. Her short hair felt thick and soft under his fingers. Now that he'd touched her, he didn't want to stop. It was like he was caught up in some kind of spell.

"Mmm hmm," she purred with heavy lids. "I like it."

With her encouragement, he let himself pet her again. But his brow registered his concern. There was something different about her as well. "You sure you ain't bit? You sound delirious." Slow and hesitant, his calloused fingers explored a trail down the curve of her head, lingering at the nape of her neck, until they instinctively curled around the silky smooth locks at the base of her skull. He was lulled by her softness. Being close to her suddenly felt so easy. _Too easy._

"Mmmm," she moaned as she responded to his soothing touch. "Not delirious. Just...cozy." Her eyes fluttered shut again, suspending the spell.

_Shit, she is asleep._ Reluctantly, he uncurled his fingers. "Hey!"

The tapping warmth on her thigh became more insistent.

"Carol." Sliding his fingers to her shoulder, he nudged her awake.

Wide-eyed, she jolted upright, looking around. The car was stopped. Rick and T-Dog were gone. Daryl was standing next to her outside the passenger door. As she stirred awake, he pulled both hands away from her and rested them on the top of the door frame, leaning in slightly towards her as the magnetic field around her pulled him in.

His rapt attention made her feel slightly uncomfortable and acutely aware of her disorientation. The self-doubt began to brew.

"Did I fall asleep?" It seemed obvious, but she couldn't remember doing so. It was sloppy. _How am I supposed keep myself safe?_

"Soon as we hit the road," he smirked. "Plumb wore yourself out bein' a badass."

"Stop," she mimicked him. "I'm not even." She didn't feel like a badass.

"Pfft," he rejected her dismissal. "You put me in my place. I reckon you gotta be tough as nails to stand up to a Dixon." A hint of pride glinted in his eyes as he gave her a lopsided grin.

The memory came back to her. She _had_ done that. _Where had that come from?_ Smiling uneasily at the compliment and his remarkably charming smile, she felt the heat creep up her neck and burn her cheeks. Something fluttered in her stomach. Recalling their earlier argument, she wanted to ask him what instigated it, but thought better about it. She was enjoying his congeniality too much to risk souring his mood. Curiously, he appeared more comfortable with himself as he stood there, quite leisurely, with his arms draped loosely above his head on the door frame. It piqued her interest. _This is odd._

The sparkle in her eyes seemed to twinkle at him. Spellbound again, he tried to look away, but he was in too deep already. For a moment, he simply forgot everything.

"Carol!"

Daryl sprung upright and looked behind him to see Lori waddling across the small overgrown lawn towards the Suburban. He stepped to the side as she approached the open door.

"Are you okay? My god, look at you. What happened?"

Carol suddenly felt crowded as she was assaulted by Lori's anxious interrogation. A crease formed on her brow as she tried to find the answers.

"I'm fine, Lori, really. I just twisted my ankles."

Daryl saw the apprehension fall across Carol's face. A knot formed in his stomach as he grew protective of her. Suddenly remembering the reason he was standing there in the first place, he reached out and placed a hand on Lori's arm, trying to calm her and prevent her from bombarding Carol with more questions.

"S'okay. Just give her a li'l space. She needs help gettin' inside is all."

"Of course."

Daryl saw the helpless look of concern on Lori's face. He knew she spent a lot of time worrying and wondered if she'd feel better if she had something to do.

"You can help her out by findin' a pot an' fillin' it with water so she can soak her feet. It might help to reduce the swellin'." He glanced at Carol again as if to convince her before returning his attention to Lori. "Get Beth or someone to help you carry it though. Hershel said you shouldn't be liftin' nothin' heavy."

Lori looked from Daryl to Carol, who smiled reassuringly to her and nodded. "Yeah, okay. I can do that. Whatever you need, Carol."

"Haven't had a pedicure in a while," Carol joked. "It sounds like fun."

Lori laughed, feeling more at ease knowing that Carol was out of harm's way. "If you think I'm scrubbin' your calloused feet, you got another thing comin', lady. I'll go see what I can find."

Thankful that her friend was home safely and that he had helped retrieve her, she touched Daryl on the arm and smiled warmly before heading back inside. Carol and Daryl watched her leave before returning their gaze to one another.

Carol smiled appreciatively. "Thank you for handling that crisis."

Daryl nodded at her as her radiant gratitude rendered him speechless again. She swiveled in the seat and made to step out of the vehicle. Daryl stepped back to make space for her and held out his hand for her to take as she stepped down.

The pain was excruciating as she got on her feet and walked a few paces. She saw his brow furrowing and wondered how much she was revealing about the pain she was in. She didn't want him worrying about her. It was only a sprained ankle or two. There were more important concerns.

"You want some help?" he asked her.

"I can make it."

"Ain't doubtin' that you can," he sighed. "I know you can. And you would, too. But–" Aggravated by his own lack of ability, he pulled at the crossbow strap on his arm as if it held the right words. _Ain't no good at this._

"But what? Are you saying you want to carry me across the threshold?"

"Pfft," Daryl scoffed, frustrated by her teasing. "That ain't it."

Carol watched his face fall as he scuffed the toe of his boot on the pavement. Without meaning to, she'd hurt him, and he was shutting down. "Daryl?" She placed her hand on his arm, encouraging him to continue.

Immediately, he lifted his eyes to hers. She had that worried look she got when she was more concerned about others than herself. And he felt guilty that he was the one who put it there. Somehow, this had become about him again instead of her. He got angry with himself. He was trying to take care of her and failing miserably. But she wasn't exactly making it easy for him either.

"This ain't about me," he growled, the irritation rattling in his voice. "You're just– Lemme ask you somethin'? You like hobblin' around in pain?"

"What do you mean do I like it?" she asked defensively. "Of course not. You think I'm enjoying this?"

"No, I don't! That's my point! You're obviously in pain, but maybe you think it has to be that way. That you have to do it all on your own. Maybe it was like that before...with..._him_. But it don't gotta be that way anymore. Ain't that whatcha tol' me? An' if you would jus' stop bein' so damn stubborn..."

His words trailed off as he noticed the tears forming in her eyes. _Shit._ He felt like an ass again for yelling at her out of frustration. _Ain't actin' no better than that prick of a husband she had._ It bothered him that he had made her cry. He bit his lip to prevent himself from making it worse.

"M' sorry," he apologized glumly. "I don't know what the hell I'm sayin'." Turning his anger back onto himself, he looked down at his boots again, feeling discouraged.

_I am being stubborn. _His candor had taken her by surprise and broke through her resistance. _He's offering assistance and I'm not letting him help me._ Carol was touched by his sincerity. _He wants to._ Tears welled in her eyes as she thought about how supportive he was trying to be. It made her feel cared for.

"No," she refuted his confession, reaching her hand to his arm again. She couldn't let him believe he'd done something wrong.

He lifted his chin and met her gaze.

"You're right. I am being stubborn."

Nervously, he shifted the weight in his feet. "Like a damn pack mule," he muttered.

She snorted a brief chuckle in agreement. The sound of it brightened on his face and lifted the corners of his lips.

"I do need your help. Please?"

A feeling of elation filled his chest as he nodded at her. He stepped forward and she put her arm around his neck and shifted towards him. She felt the lean muscles of his back contract as he accepted her weight. Low in her belly, she felt a whisper of heat trickle upwards. Her breath hitched from the shock of it.

The way she looked at him in that moment, like he was someone special, felt so significant to him that he had to look away so he could remember to breathe.

Carol watched him with awe as he gently lifted her. Even though she was prepared this time, she felt more nervous and stiffened anyway as her feet left the ground. His strong arms held her close against him and she marveled at his willingness to put his own discomfort aside. When the mossy scent of him enveloped her, she finally let herself relax into his warmth and be carried.

Inside the house, Lori was rifling noisily through the cabinets in the kitchen, searching for a suitable pot.

"What are you doin'?" T-Dog asked when he saw her pulling out a large pot.

"Helping Carol soak her feet. Can you help me?"

"Sure, no problem. That's a good idea."

"I know! But I can't take the credit. It was Daryl's idea."

"Hmm," T-Dog sighed. He couldn't help but smile wryly. Daryl was intriguingly overprotective of Carol and T-Dog had a hunch that there was more to the story, although he doubted that either Daryl or Carol had any indication as to what it might be.

"He's being helpful. Is that so hard to believe?"

T-Dog shot her a puzzled look as if he was wondering if she was being serious. "The man's an enigma. Gave up on tryin' to figure him out."

She smiled knowingly. "It must be Carol's influence. She's the only one who can ever get him out one of his god-awful moods. She's like The Dixon Whisperer," she joked.

"And we are blessed to have her," T-Dog agreed.

"So get this," she whispered, looking around to see if they were alone. "When I went out there, he was leaning in really close to Carol, talking to her. I could have sworn he was flirting with her."

"No! Our Daryl?" There had been some subtle and cautious glances from him directed towards the woman that had not gone unnoticed. But T-Dog was a little surprised the hunter would be caught engaging in such overtly playful behavior. Daryl was temperamental and aloof around them most of the time, rarely letting his guard down. As far as T-Dog could see, Daryl was skittish when it came to getting close to people, although he did seem more tolerant of Carol. "The wonders may never cease," T-Dog mused.

"I know. You think he even knew what he was doing?"

"I doubt it. That boy's all kinds of turned around."

"I swear he was trying to get rid of me."

"Well, yeah, three's a crowd."

They were laughing as Daryl walked in with Carol and set her down on the sofa. Lori stood open-mouthed at the sight of Carol in Daryl's arms. She elbowed T-Dog in the ribs to stifle his laughter and they quickly exchanged quizzical glances. They both tried to act nonchalant about their gossiping as he carried the large pot of water over and placed it down at Carol's feet.

Carol took off her boots and socks reluctantly, aware of the audience. Her face grew warm as she worried if her feet smelled.

"I feel bad to waste water this way," she said apologetically as she rolled up her pant legs and slipped her swollen ankles into the cool water.

"It's no problem," Lori reassured her. "I used the stuff we hadn't boiled yet."

Daryl grew uncomfortable as the others crowded around. When he saw Carol settling her feet into the water, he ducked out down the hall and looked through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, hoping to find a pain reliever to help Carol. Unfortunately, there wasn't much in there. Someone had already gone through it. _Figures, _he thought as he went to find Hershel.

He found him in the back bedroom, sitting with Maggie. Daryl knocked before the voices called out, encouraging him to enter.

"Hey, how're you feelin'?" he asked Maggie.

"Better, thanks. Daddy says I'm no longer contagious. I'll be able to help out again fairly soon. Y'all have been doin' so much extra work."

"There's no need to rush. We got it covered. You jus' focus on gettin' better, okay?"

"I'll try. It's just hard not to get bored, you know?"

Daryl nodded his understanding. He hated feeling idle, too.

"How's Carol? Rick told us she got hurt."

"She's alright. Got her out there soakin' her feet. Figured maybe you had somethin' to help with the pain?" He directed his inquiry towards Hershel.

Hershel walked over to the plastic container which contained all their medical supplies. "Glenn found some ibuprofen. A couple of these should do the trick. Should help with the swelling, too. Tell Carol I'll come by later to take a look." He tossed the bottle to Daryl.

"Will do," Daryl replied as he caught it. He smiled shyly at Maggie before he turned to leave. "Glad to hear you're feelin' better."

After Daryl had left the living room, Carol turned to T-Dog. "Is it just me, or does he seem different to you?"

"Oh? Different how?" T-Dog glanced at Lori and winked.

"It's hard to say," Carol stated uncertainly. She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Hmm, well, that's really something to go on. Maybe it is just you then," T-Dog teased.

Carol elbowed him, smiling.

"What?" he chuckled. "He kind of seems like the same ol' angry redneck to me."

"Don't be mean. He's not _always_ angry."

"Well, maybe it's just _me_ then. But the man about had my throat when I came back here without you. Blamed me, just like he did with Merle. Like I had a choice. He sure can hold a grudge."

"What?"

"He up an' threw it in my face. After all this time," T-Dog frowned as the guilt from the memory came back to him.

"But it wasn't your fault, T. None of it. I know that." She touched her hand briefly to his face. "You saved me." Remembering how he had responded quickly and pushed her out of the way of the falling debris, she gave him a smile and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

Returning with the bottle of pills, Daryl stopped in his tracks when he saw Carol touch T-Dog's face. _Ain't that fuckin' cozy._ The smile she was giving T-Dog was so _unfair_. It lit her whole face until it became a radiant orb. As she kissed him, Daryl felt the bottom of his chest plummet into his stomach and twist into knots of envy. An uneasiness spread throughout his body.

He knew his feelings were wrong. He had no claim to Carol's affection. She cared about everyone. It was just who she was. He told himself he had no right to feel the way he did. He didn't quite understand the why of it, but it was painfully evident to him that he wanted Carol's tenderness, her comforting touches, to mean something to him. He just wasn't quite sure what he wanted it to mean.

_Don't mean nothin'._

A battle brewed inside as he fought his feelings. Sadly, he was used to not allowing himself to want anything, because he never usually got what he wanted anyway. Wanting only lead to more pain. A man could only rely on what he had.

_Got no right thinkin' you're somethin' special. S'enough she thinks you're somethin' more than nothin'. Don't need more than that._

But the fear of his own desperate yearning continued to grip him with terror.

_Jus' gonna screw everythin' up._

As he watched the bitter scene unfold, he was reminded of when he was a kid and he peered into a store window, admiring all the toys he would never have. When Merle caught him, he had chastised him for it. _You don't need that bourgeois crap, little brother._ Merle had been right about that one, he didn't need that shit, but he'd wanted it all the same.

And it was like that his whole life, Daryl realized. He was always standing on the outside, looking in—wanting what he couldn't have. He felt himself deflate as he stared at the bottle of pills in his hand. But Carol had told him he belonged, and for the first time in his life, he had admitted to himself that he really wanted to be a part of this close-knit group. This family. He wanted to be on the inside—with her. It hit him then, how hard he was trying to fit in and do the right thing, even when it was painfully uncomfortable, such as in this moment. He needed to overcome his feelings and quit placing himself on the outskirts if he wanted to stand by her side.

It was a daunting task, and he wasn't sure he could do it without failing. Because the closer he got to the inside, the more he wanted. And the more he felt. His uncertainty was overwhelming, he had no idea how to cope with all his feelings. His anger kept everyone at a comfortable distance, and he was used to that. It made his life uncomplicated. But it wasn't as effective anymore. With these people, it seemed to hurt more to stay angry. It caused more pain. And he couldn't push his other feelings down far enough anymore. He couldn't numb them away with alcohol. He couldn't escape. Feelings were a messy complication. They were always there, a constant threat waiting to sabotage his efforts.

_Careful now._ _Gotta good thing goin' here._

He was trying to believe that maybe he couldn't screw it up. That somehow it didn't matter where he'd come from or who he'd been before. All that mattered was how he behaved now. Like Carol told him, it was his choice. It was on him to do what felt right. But he had walked so far out on that limb of trust that it suddenly felt too much like a plank. One wrong step and he could be treading water in a maelstrom of unchecked emotions and drowning from his efforts. He had to find a way to push past his own fears and wounded pride in order to stand beside her. He needed to show her that she was someone worth fighting for, and that losing her was not an option. He had to show her and the others how much he valued and cared about them. It was the only way to keep them.

Surmounting his jealous insecurity, he was hot and sweating as he finally walked over to the sofa. Lori cleared her throat when she saw him approaching.

"Gotcha these," he said flatly as he handed Carol the bottle of pills. "Hershel says for you to take a couple. It'll help with the pain an' swellin'. Said he'd come by later to check on you."

"Thank you, Dr. Dixon," Carol teased as she reached for it, trying to lighten the serious look Daryl had pasted on his face. Although she was reluctant to use their medical supplies for what she considered to be a mild injury, she didn't argue. She would play the role of the good patient for him. Opening the bottle, she tapped out two pills into her palm.

"I'll get you some water," Lori said quickly.

Daryl shuffled his feet and looked awkwardly from Carol to T-Dog. They looked at ease with each other, he thought. T-Dog gave him a friendly smile. Immediately, Daryl felt embarrassed as he thought about the way he'd spoken to him earlier. The man had saved his life—he'd saved Carol's—and Daryl showed him no respect. He was no kind of friend. T-Dog deserved Carol's affection. He'd earned it.

All the confidence Daryl felt earlier when he was alone with Carol had eroded, leaving him bereft of appropriate conversation. The panic began to swirl within him, necessitating a hasty retreat. Keenly aware of his own discomfort, he turned gruffly and left the room, slamming open the back door.

Lori returned with a glass of water for Carol. "What was all that about?"

"Does he need a reason to be angry?" T-Dog countered.

"He seemed fine earlier. Maybe I should go talk to him," Carol wondered, taking the glass from Lori. She popped the pills into her mouth and chased them with a few sips of water.

"You're not going anywhere, Carol," Lori protested as she picked up and placed a pillow behind Carol's back. "You've done enough for today."

"Yeah, relax. Give it a rest, Slayer. He ain't goin' nowhere."

Carol sat back against the pillow and tried to relax, but she couldn't stop thinking about Daryl and her recent interaction with him. While his shifting moods were not particularly uncommon, there was a niggle in the back of her mind which hinted at something that had changed between them. Despite their earlier proximity, he had looked pleasantly at ease with her and it took her by surprise. There had been something unguarded lurking his eyes which she found mysteriously captivating. It had drawn her in, pulling her own breath from her as she felt an unusual stirring of sensations in her body. She blushed as she recalled the moment and quickly felt ill at ease. _What was that?_ She wasn't entirely sure.

Avoiding her own discomfort, she returned her thoughts to Daryl's angry exit. She couldn't help but notice the look on his face before he had bolted. He had seemed troubled and more aloof than he had been just moments before. Had Daryl overheard them talking about him and gotten upset about it? While she wasn't one to usually gossip, she didn't have anything bad to say about him anyway. T-Dog had been upset about the things that Daryl had said to him, although Carol was sure that Daryl hadn't really meant them. Whatever it was that was bothering Daryl, she was determined to get to the bottom of it.


	15. Close

**AN: **Hello again, my lovelies! My apologies for keeping you waiting so long for this one. It was hard to finish for many reasons, among the worst was my own self-doubt. I think I spent longer agonizing over this chapter than I did writing it. I couldn't have done it without your support. To my new readers, welcome aboard! And those of you who sent me messages inquiring about my progress and expressing your eagerness to read this installment, I am indebted to you for keeping me motivated during a very bleak time.

I would like to extend a very special thank you to subversivegrrl for helping me out of a jam and acting as a beta reader.

Thank you so much! Remember, your reviews keep me going. I appreciate every one. XXOO -jb

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15: Close<strong>

It was dark and freezing cold when Rick spotted Daryl in the cloud-covered moonlight, coming back down the empty road with a slew of dead squirrels swinging from his belt. Rick smiled happily. Of course the hunter was coming home with dinner. _He's persistent, I'll give him that, _Rick thought.

He walked out to the sidewalk to meet Daryl as he approached the house. "You don't give up easily do you?" Rick asked, nodding to the kills.

Daryl shrugged. "We need the meat."

"Yeah, I know. I know. Thank you." Rick rubbed at the scruff on his chin. "Listen, Daryl, about before...what you said...I don't think anyone is expendable. I don't think that at all. I just- I made the wrong call. I'm just trying..."

"Yeah, I know," Daryl interrupted, letting the man off the hook. The solace of the woods had soothed him and given him a fresh perspective. The success of the hunt made him feel more content knowing he was contributing, and he hoped it could somehow compensate for the way he treated the others earlier. "You wanna keep everyone safe. Hell, you got your own family to look after. I understand." He shifted on his feet and looked down at the scuffed toe of his boot. He felt ashamed that his anger kept getting the best of him. He really did think Rick was a good leader, most of the time.

"Yeah. But we need to stick together. All of us. I'm sorry that I forgot. You were right to remind me of that. We won't leave anyone behind. Not again. I promise."

Half lifting his head, Daryl squinted, assessing Rick's sincerity. It wasn't often that Daryl was on the receiving end of an apology.

"I'm glad you called me out. It's been awhile."

"Didn't do it for you," Daryl asserted. "Jus' needed to be done."

"I know. You care about Carol. We all do. You did the right thing, Daryl. I'm sorry I let you down, let her down. Since Shane I- I forgot what it's like to have a partner. One that I could trust."

Rick stuck his hand out to Daryl. Slightly astounded by the man's admission of confidence in him, Daryl stared at it. However, he understood that Rick was trying to do right by him, so Daryl accepted his apology and they shook hands.

"Reckon it all worked out in the end," Daryl replied, standing a little bit taller. "No real harm come to anyone."

"And I'm thankful for that. Truly." He reached over and squeezed Daryl on the shoulder. "Can I help you with those?" Rick asked, pointing to the squirrels hanging from the hunter's belt.

"Nah, you got watch. Gonna find Carl. I like the way his face scrunches up when he guts 'em."

Rick laughed and patted Daryl on the back. "Well, in that case, make him do them all. Tell him I said so."

"Plan to."

After the squirrels had been cooked, Daryl offered a plate to Carol, who had been sitting more or less immobilized on the sofa all evening with her feet elevated. It was quite unusual, having him bringing her a meal instead. While a part of her felt awkward sitting back and letting the others do all the work, she had to admit that she liked being served for once. It made her feel special and somewhat deserving of the care. Being propped up by all the pillows, she felt downright regal reclined there as she accepted the plate. She thanked Daryl, smiling at him demurely so as not to make him too uncomfortable with a more grand expression of gratitude for his noticeable effort. It was a revelation for her to recognize that allowing Daryl to care for her made him feel good, too.

He looked more relaxed than he had earlier, she observed. Something had definitely shifted within Daryl; she could tell he was different. A little more agreeable, perhaps. But then, he always looked more refreshed after a hunt. Carol was still a bit puzzled by him as she wondered to herself. Daryl wore his heart on his sleeve, which she found endearing, but she was certain, from her lengthy marriage to an abusive man, that he had suffered greatly in his life because of it. It made Carol protective of him. Of all of them, it was quite clear that Daryl needed the most consoling, even though he rejected it most of the time. But Carol wasn't going to stop trying to reach out to him. Not as long as she was still alive.

After the food had been handed out, she watched him toss another log onto the fire he'd started as soon as he'd returned. The flames surged and sparked as he did so, filling the room with a flickering light. With the winter chill removed from the air, the house had grown warm and toasty. For the time being, it felt safe.

The whole clan joined her in the living room. It made Carol happy that Daryl actually appeared to be sticking around. Even Maggie had been given the green light to sit with the rest of them. It was the first time the whole family had gathered for a meal, even if it was only briefly before T-Dog and Rick had to go back outside to finish their shifts on watch.

"Carol, you look like a queen there," Glenn commented with a huge grin as he sat on the armrest of the oversized chair beside Maggie.

"I feel like one," said Carol, matching his smile. "But I must look a little...ridiculous with all_ this_, don't you think?" She made a sweeping gesture towards all the pillows.

"Nah, looks good on you," he disagreed.

Carol wore a pleased expression. Daryl had noticed it as he took a place on the floor with his back against the wall. A feeling of satisfaction arose within him and slyly crept onto his face.

She reached over and gave Glenn's arm a gentle squeeze. "Careful," she warned him jokingly, "or I might never get up."

"You'd think that would be the case," Maggie said as she impaled a piece of squirrel meat with her fork. "But then you realize how borin' it is to just sit around and watch everyone else do all the work."

"I'm so glad you're feeling better and could join us tonight. It's been awhile since we all shared a meal together," Carol remarked as she glanced at everyone.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Hershel beamed from his chair on the other side of the room.

"It is," Carol agreed. She turned to Daryl sitting on the floor and offered him an appreciative smile that suggested she knew he had made an extra effort to be present that night.

Daryl blushed and looked down at his plate to pick at the cooked squirrel with his fingers. When he looked up again, Carol was still smiling at him. Her eyes were shining so brilliantly, he could only smile back shyly before looking down at this plate again.

Lori saw the brief look exchanged between the pair and smiled to herself. "We have Daryl to thank for that," Lori stated, raising her cup of water. "Am I right?" She turned to Rick and tilted her head as if to encourage him.

The room got quiet as eyes turned to the couple and then to Daryl. Daryl froze as he became the center of attention. He felt the sweat slip down his neck as he scanned their faces, wondering what it was that he had done wrong this time. He drew back uncomfortably, bracing himself for an expected attack.

But it never came.

There were no harsh words flung at him, denouncing him as a worthless fuck-up. Instead, everyone began expressing their gratitude to Daryl as they raised their glasses towards him, toasting his contribution. Startled by this realization, he immediately deflected the attention away from himself. "Carl's the one got his hands dirty."

"Squirrel guts are gross," Carl announced.

Everyone laughed.

"Hey! Some of us are still eating," Lori chastened him lightly.

"Sorry," he blushed with a sheepish grin.

Everyone laughed again. The fact that they were safely all together put everyone in a brighter mood. The threat was momentarily forgotten. Even Daryl felt himself relaxing in their company.

_Ain't so bad._

After dinner, the group disbanded from the living room and prepared to settle in for the night. Rick and T-Dog went back to their posts outside. Daryl stood and began helping Lori clear the dishes until Maggie grabbed for the stack of plates he was holding and shooed him away.

"Go on, Daryl. Let me get this," she pleaded. "You've already done so much today."

Daryl stopped in his tracks and raised his eyebrow in a questioning glance. "You sure? I don't mind."

"Please, I've been dyin' for something to do."

He nodded, fully understanding her reasons, and gently handed her the plates. Maggie followed Lori into the kitchen, leaving Carol and Daryl alone.

He glanced over at Carol reclined on the couch and felt an awkward tension begin to build in his body as he stalled in the living room doorway. It made him uncertain.

"Got everythin' you need?" he asked.

"I'm fine, really. Thank you."

He nodded at her from the doorway, still hesitating.

"Come. Sit," she invited him, patting the plush seat of the chair next to her. "You're hovering like a mother hen."

"Pfft," he scoffed. But he took her up on the invitation, picking up his crossbow.

He began to inspect and clean it, wiping it down with the rag he pulled from his back pocket. Carol watched as he worked silently, admiring the care and precision he took in maintaining his trusted weapon. After cleaning it, Daryl pulled out his wax and lube kit from his jacket pocket. He rubbed a score of lube down the length of the barrel and then set to waxing the strings. When he was done, he set the crossbow back on the floor, leaning it against the side of the chair for quick access.

"So, you wanna tell me what's going on?" Carol inquired boldly.

She almost regretted it. Daryl froze. Caught in her crosshairs, he looked desperate, chewing on his lip as if he were planning how best to remove himself from the line of fire before the oncoming conversation struck him point-blank. His leg shook in contemplation; he was eager to flee.

Remarkably, he didn't. But he couldn't face her either. Instead, he turned away from Carol, abruptly kicking his feet up onto the ottoman and slouching down in the chair, trying to dispel the restless energy running through him. Daryl was stuck in the bind of his ambivalence, crippled by his uncertainty, unsure how to respond. He knew she wouldn't let it go until he answered her. But he didn't really know what to say, what she expected of him. That was the most unsettling part. Whatever he said would only let her down. So, he just closed his eyes and sullenly resisted the question he wasn't ready to answer.

Carol ignored his attempt to avoid her. For some reason, he had stayed. There was a chance she could reach him. Maybe he just needed a gentle nudge. She wondered how far she would have to push him this time. It was a delicate art she was learning to craft.

"Who's being the stubborn one, now?" she sighed, calling him out.

Daryl's eyes shot open. Her eyes narrowed at him offensively. _Maybe this won't be so hard after all, _she thought smugly to herself.

Feeling her eyes on him, he squirmed uncomfortably in the chair before reluctantly sitting upright. The compulsion to run coursing through him more acutely, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was on to him, drilling into his weakened defenses with those formidable blue eyes, peering into the raw center of his being. It was unnerving how easily she did so.

"T-Dog's a good man, Daryl." Carol's words were quietly firm. "He saved my life. What's gotten into you?"

He turned his head and glared at her with wide eyes, the panic growing inside of him with every one of her probing questions. She may as well have been a horde of snarling walkers the way he suddenly felt trapped. He had chosen to stay, but now his conflicting assortment of feelings was an undulating squall of confusion within him, only heightening his fear as she pinned him with her gaze. It raised his hackles and he began to fidget. He picked at the fraying edges of the hole in his pants, feeling a bit like the thread he saw there.

_Gonna fuck shit up_, _asshole_, he told himself as he fought to keep his cool.

"Pfft," he issued dismissively, looking away. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Ain't nothin' wrong with me." But the guilt quickly twitched on his face. His sense of vulnerability grew increasingly onerous. It was becoming more difficult to pretend that what she thought of him didn't matter to him. It mattered. It mattered a lot. And he was afraid of what would happen when she discovered the shameful truth. She was getting too close. His ass was definitely cornered.

She could tell by the desperate scowl contorting on his face that he was lying. He was afraid of something.

"There's something going on between you two. I can feel it. T-Dog thinks you still blame him for Merle. Is that true?"

He heard the disappointment in her voice and a wave of shame shot through his chest, tearing it wide open, spilling out the precious stores of his self-worth, lessening his anger. He couldn't look her in the eye. He didn't want to see the disgust he knew was waiting there. The look that everyone gave him, like he was a no-good son of a bitch.

The weight of his belief was so heavy his chin collapsed, and the top half of his body tumbled after. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn her body and move her hand towards him. If it were anyone else, he would have flinched, expecting physical harm to follow the oppressive feeling of shame. Even still, the shock of her merciful fingers on his arm ran through him like a bolt of lightning, sparking his recollection of her words from the night before.

_It's hard not to believe something that you've heard so many times. It starts to feel like the truth. But it's not. _

The words dammed the expanding hole of self-loathing, salvaging the remains of his courage. He felt like a worthless asshole, but she believed he could be a different kind of man. All he had to do was try. He shot upright, finally meeting her eyes.

He wasn't prepared for the caring concern he saw reflected there. It pierced his heart like a needle and began to mend the fissure that had erupted. It reinforced his waning confidence and allowed him to be honest with her.

"No," he admitted. "Merle did that to himself. Shit, I know that. He's my brother. I was just-" he paused nervously.

Her eyes shined with a benign grace. "Scared?" she offered.

The word punched him in his gut like a painful memory. And he searched her eyes vigilantly for the loss of esteem he was expecting to find. It was his dirtiest secret. A Dixon wasn't supposed to be afraid of anything. The lesson had been beaten into him more times than he could recall. And here he was now, fully exposed and ashamed of his weakness, with nowhere to hide.

But nothing had changed in her eyes. There was only tenderness there. Light rather than darkness. Worried that more would leak out of him, his throat grew tight. So he simply nodded and shied away from her again, still afraid of what she would think of his inherent weakness.

"It's okay, Daryl," she consoled him. She rubbed his arm with short, gentle strokes. Her touch was a safety net, catching him before he fell more deeply into his insecurity. "We all are."

Bolstered, he returned his damp eyes to her, righting his shoulders this time as he met her warm gaze, feeling less raw than he had the moment before. Despite his admission, she was still looking upon him like he was worth a damn.

"It doesn't make you less of a man to admit that you're afraid." Her hand gently graced his cheek. "It makes you a better one. It means you care."

Her fingers were soft and warm against his skin as they smoothed the prickled barbs that had bristled there. Allowing himself to be comforted, he lost himself in her eyes as he continued his search for some ulterior motive, some cruel trick, some proof that he was as worthless as he felt. But all he found was her honest admiration. And the sheer force of her gaze continued to hold and restore him.

He was struck by the realization of how much he needed her gentle reassurance. It filled the hollow void in his chest and released him from the shackles of the lie he had been forced into believing his whole life. The sudden feeling of liberation was overwhelming.

Not since he had lost his mother had he ever felt so close to anyone. No one had ever made such an effort to understand him or to help him make sense of what he was feeling. She made it tolerable. He took a deep breath to dispel his remaining fears. She was so close he could smell her. Briefly, everything fell away as he drew her in, sweet earth tinged with sweat. It evoked something deep and obscure inside Daryl.

He thought of his mother then. Ancient memories of her loving hands plunged into the fertile soil, planting seeds. Growing things. Hope bloomed in the barren spot in his chest.

Carol made him feel safe, he realized, from the black hole that lived within him. He felt a pull to let her inside. He wanted her to fill the emptiness that he always carried locked away in the lonely fortress that was his heart. He took another breath and surrendered his remaining defenses.

"I don't like losin' people," he revealed to her shakily. "An' I was... afraid o' losin' you, too. Because, truth is, don't know where I'd be without you. Ain't never had a... a true friend before."

Amidst the chaos, her presence had become a constant for him like the polar star. She helped him navigate the stormy seas of his emotions, guiding him towards a peaceful resolution of his past. He thought about what Rick had told him earlier, how Daryl had reminded Rick of something important that he had forgotten. Daryl was struck by the similarity of what he wanted to convey to Carol.

"You help me see things... differently, I guess. An' when you told me I belonged, I didn't realize how much I wanted to until you said it. All this time, been tellin' myself I was better on my own, but it ain't true. Never was. Just some lie, like you said. I need..." his skittish eyes caught hers only fleetingly as he fumbled, "people."

He kept his eyes averted as he continued.

"Don't wanna be like my ol' man. Don't wanna be out there on my own neither. Never did. No one should. You said," he glanced at her pensively, "it can be different. I can be...I wanna be... a different kind o'... man. A better man. A good one."

The fragile honesty of his words broke her heart. She smiled at him so she wouldn't dissolve into tears in front of him. "You don't need _me_ to tell you who you are, Daryl. You're strong. You're honest. You're so incredibly brave. You feel- you _care_ about people. About what happens to us. I know you do. That didn't come from me. That comes from here." She placed her hand tenderly on his chest over his heart. "You _are_ a good man. A kind man. That's who you are. It's who you've always been."

It seemed to surprise him that she always saw him as the man he wanted to be. But the pounding in his chest did not slow as he marveled at her, still puzzled about what made him so afraid of her, so unsettled. He worried that his disclosure gave her some kind of power over him. So he kept breathing deeply, trying to stay in control. But despite his fears, she never wielded this power over him. She never turned his words against him. Instead, she let her warm hand slide down the outside of his shoulder and down his arm, until her hand found his. Smiling tenderly as she clasped it, she gave it a soothing squeeze before releasing it.

After a while, a comfortable quiet fell across them like a cozy blanket. They sat together in silence, entranced by the dancing firelight, while the warmth of their encounter began to smolder deep within.

"I should apologize to T, huh?" It wasn't really a question. He knew he had to; it was the right thing to do.

"I'm sure he will understand," she encouraged him with a soft smile.

He nodded at her in agreement. With firm resolution, he slowly stood. But he paused before walking away, looking at her as if there was so much more he wanted to say. His chest swelled with the heaviness of it all. "Thanks," was all he could manage.

"Anytime. That's what friends are for."

Daryl stepped outside into the frozen winter night. The icy sting of the air quickly had him on edge again as the muscles in his whole body contracted. Letting his eyes adjust, he found T-Dog standing at the end of the front porch and approached him cautiously.

"Hey," he said to catch T-Dog's attention.

T-Dog turned and met Daryl with an inquisitive glance. "S'up, Daryl?"

"Listen, 'bout earlier, I wanna... m'sorry I said that shit to you. Didn't mean it," Daryl said plainly. "I know what happened on the roof in Atlanta was an accident. Merle's a real asshole. Especially when he's high. I figure he had it comin'. But you went back," he averred, looking the man in the eye, "and tried to do right by him. I respect that. Ain't holdin' no grudges. I'm-" he paused as the weight of his actions set into his shoulders again.

His head dropped towards his boots as he considered the words of his father that were echoing inside his head. _You ain't no better than the dog shit I scrape off my boots, boy. Best remember that._

"I'm just an ass like my brother, I guess."

T-Dog considered his words along with the abject remorse on Daryl's face. He was genuinely surprised by this unexpected, yet obviously heartfelt apology. "Well, you are an ass," he agreed after a while. "Sometimes." He tempered his assessment with a toothy grin. As much as his attitude annoyed him, T-Dog also recognized that Daryl contributed a lot to their group. He'd had his back on more than one occasion, too. "We're cool, bro," T-Dog declared, completely willing to put it all behind them. He wasn't one to hold grudges. Life was too damn short to spend it being angry. Besides, he knew what had sparked Daryl's temper. "I know you were just worried about her."

His acknowledgment made Daryl realize his ability to hide his fears was sorely lacking. It made him uneasy that his feelings were so obvious to these people. He felt more than a little vulnerable. Everyone seemed to read him more easily than he had thought. But oddly enough, none of them had ever teased him about it or told him what he felt was wrong. In fact, it didn't seem to matter all that much to them. They seemed to simply accept it. Like it was natural. Daryl nodded in agreement, nervously wondering what else he was unwittingly revealing about himself.

"So, when are you gonna tell her?" T-Dog prodded him.

"Tell her what?"

"How you feel about her."

Daryl stiffened. "Ain't nothin' to tell," he cagily replied. "She knows I was concerned."

"Oh?" T-Dog raised a doubting eyebrow. "Just concerned?"

Daryl glowered and swallowed down the lump of fear before reacting. "So, I care about her. What's it to you?"

"Yeah? Alright." T-Dog lifted his hands to show him he meant no ill will. "You care about her. At least you know that much. Just tryin' to-"

"Tryin' to what?" The wariness hardened Daryl's voice. His pupils constricted as he zeroed in on the man.

"Tryin' to help you figure it out," T-Dog sighed, shaking his head and wondering why he was bothering at all. But when he saw the honest confusion on Daryl's face he continued. "How you feel about her."

Daryl grew more rigid and began to chew on the inside of his lip. His face flushed. "What's to figure out? I jus' told you." He shifted on his feet and turned away, leaning over the porch railing, unsure why his feet didn't just carry him away from this conversation.

His smile fading, T-Dog's face turned serious. "Huh. You really have no idea?"

"Carol's cool," Daryl allowed, shrugging as he tried to let the comment slide by. "Jus'," he shuffled uncomfortably in his boots, "complicated."

He groaned quietly to himself. He couldn't believe he was having this discussion; it was going against everything he knew and felt. Yet, running away from his problems wasn't really solving them either. And while Carol wasn't so much a problem as she was a puzzle to him, a part of him was growing curious, wanting to figure it out. Shaking his head in disbelief, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. He offered one to T-Dog before taking out his own.

"Ah," T-Dog chuckled, accepting the cigarette. "Ain't that just like a woman though?"

Daryl shrugged again and lit his cigarette before handing the other man his lighter.

T-Dog tapped his cigarette on the railing as he took in Daryl's reaction. "Take it you've never been around women too much?"

"Been around plenty," Daryl countered toughly, puffing out the smoke. But when he realized it wasn't a challenge to his masculinity, he eased his tone. "Jus' not so..."

"Close?" T-Dog asked as he lit his cigarette.

The word made Daryl uncomfortable. He stared at the man, carefully gauging his intent, before finally nodding.

"What about your Mom?" T asked innocently as he handed the lighter back.

Stuffing the lighter back into his pocket, Daryl shook his head. "Died when I was eight."

The loss of his mother was an empty void in Daryl's chest. It was something he never talked about with anyone. He kept it hidden like all his other family secrets. He knew that was his father's doing.

T-Dog's brow furrowed at the news. "That musta been hard. As a kid."

Daryl thought about his childhood. None of it had been easy.

He shrugged, taking another drag from his cigarette. "It was what it was," he breathed out.

The curling cloud of smoke expanded and drifted upwards. Watching it, he felt a part of himself drifting with it. He didn't like talking about his mother. Remembering her was like remembering that a part of him was tragically erased when she burnt herself down to nothing. She was that missing piece that always made him feel that he was lacking in some fundamental way. He cleared his throat trying to dismiss the grief that had risen there.

Daryl never really had people to care about. Until the Turn, Merle had been his whole world. It was just easier that way. Daryl thought that was all he needed. He never had to feel anything he didn't want to. He never had to be accountable to anyone. He never had to worry if they'd leave him. And if he could admit it to himself, he never felt strong enough to handle it. The loss. He had already lost so much as a child that he told himself it wasn't worth trying to have relationships with anyone else. It was easier to avoid attachments to others than suffer through the pain of their inevitable disappearance.

After his mother died, Daryl was left alone with his father and his intolerant scrutiny. Merle was away doing time at juvie. His father's drinking got worse. One day, shortly after they relocated to another town away from everyone Daryl had known, Daryl's father caught him crying on the front steps of the shithole they moved into and beat him bloody with his belt until his father lost his balance, tumbled down the steps, and passed out face down in the dirt. Too young to move him, Daryl had left him there to tend to his wounds as best he could. When his dad finally woke up in his pissed-stained pants, Daryl had caught hell for that, too.

But T-Dog was right about his experience with women. It was fairly limited. Shit, he'd been with quite a few women, but he couldn't recall much about any of them. He had to be drunk enough to get up the nerve to talk to most of them because he was so painfully shy. But it was only a means to an end. He'd never felt anything but pure physical release with any of them. Sure, it was pleasurable while it lasted, but afterward he only ever felt guilty. Like it hadn't been enough—that he hadn't been. Despite his attempts, he couldn't fuck away the empty feeling of worthlessness that lived in his core. He never allowed himself to get to know anyone he'd ever slept with and none of them had bothered to get to know him. Of course, he'd never stuck around long enough to try either. Merle had seen to that. So the truth was that no, he'd never been emotionally close to any women before. It was all terrifyingly new to him.

"Just been Merle 'n me really. Once the ol' bastard finally drank himself to death," he added bitterly.

T-Dog thought about how sad and lonely it sounded. He had come from a big family that was full of love. He was raised by strong women. Both his mother and grandmother worked hard to provide a good life for him and his sisters and they protected them from the environmental horrors of the inner-city projects where he grew up. It made him realize how much care Daryl had been deprived of. T-Dog could see him in a new light; Daryl didn't know how to get along with others because he never had the opportunity to learn.

"I don't think you're like your brother," T-Dog offered. "For what it's worth."

Daryl eyed him as he smoked.

"You're a different man, Daryl."

He was trying to be. But it wasn't easy.

T-Dog took a couple drags from his cigarette. "Don't get me wrong, you can still be an ass," he chuckled. "But I know your intentions are good. As much as you bitch and moan, when shit goes down, I know you'll be there at my back. That's family, man."

Hearing this felt reassuring to Daryl, that how he was starting to feel about the others was mutual. Carol, Rick, and now T-Dog. The group was starting to feel like the family he always wanted—that he'd needed. They were people he could rely on, and in turn, Daryl felt a sense of duty and accountability to them. Fulfilling these responsibilities gave him more faith in himself. Even though he made mistakes, they could be forgiven with the right attitude. He could keep trying to make it right.

"But with Carol now," T-Dog grinned, returning to the topic of conversation. He pointed his finger at Daryl to indicate he was trying to help him. "It's different. Different from the others, I mean. She's a special lady."

Daryl wasn't going to disagree. There was definitely something special about her. But the remark made him look at T-Dog suspiciously.

"You have feelings for her. Am I right?"

The truth knocked the air out of Daryl's lungs. When it came to Carol, he felt a lot of different things, some of which eluded explanation. Just the mention of her name had his heart racing in his chest again. Putting the cigarette between his lips, he inhaled deeply, watching the paper burn to ash. He flicked it away as he slowly exhaled. "Shit," he said, brooding over his predicament. He wasn't good at identifying his feelings, he only knew that it was wrong to have them. He shrugged, turning away. "Don't know what I feel." He couldn't bring himself to fully acknowledge what he didn't understand. But it filled him with an embarrassing unrest nonetheless. His head swirled with too many thoughts at once. It was overwhelming. He leaned on the railing again to steady himself.

T-Dog saw the clueless terror on Daryl's face. "Oh man, she really did a number on you, didn't she? She's got you all turned around and you don't know which way is up."

Daryl was flustered, that much was true. Merle would have given him shit for admitting anything of an emotional nature, but T-Dog just stood there smiling cheerfully, almost encouraging him. Daryl raised his eyebrow questioningly, waiting for the jab that never came.

"You ain't mad?"

"That you dig Carol? Why would I be mad about it?"

Daryl shrugged and cast his eyes down as he thought about all the times he had been envious of T-Dog. The guilt perched on his shoulders.

"Oh, you think that I-? Well, that explains a lot," T-Dog said pensively, taking a final drag from his cigarette. "No, I ain't mad. But I care about her a lot. You feel me? She's like my own sister. She's family."

Daryl had heard T-Dog talk about his sisters before from the many stories he told on the road. Even though he was a middle child, he had been quite protective of them. From everything Daryl had heard, T-Dog had a fairly happy childhood where members of his family supported each other. Daryl liked the idea that he had considered Carol a part of that. He felt a little more respect for the man. Daryl was starting to grasp the concept that there wasn't a competition; they both wanted the same thing—to protect Carol and keep the group safe.

"You ever been in love?" T-Dog blatantly inquired as he stubbed out his cigarette on the railing.

_Love?_ Daryl wasn't sure he even knew what that meant. "Pfft. Have you?" he asked defensively, flicking his own cigarette to the ground and stamping out the lit end with the sole of his boot. He looked at T-Dog curiously.

"Well," T-Dog reflected nostalgically with a large smile, "there was this one woman who went to my church. Tiffany Johnson. She was real sweet. She made the best peach cobbler. Ever. Good Lord, it was delicious. Mmmm mmm. She always gave me an extra helping to take home with me. And she had the most beautiful green eyes I'd ever seen. Shined like the first spring leaves covered in dew. Man! Got lost in 'em. I was always nervous around her. I was tongue-tied, if you can imagine that," he laughed at the recollection.

Daryl had a hard time imagining it. T-Dog was chatty like his brother Merle. He had a confidence about him, too, but he was gentler, less arrogant. _Soft_, Merle had called him. But Daryl could relate to T's experience. He knew what it felt like to fumble, to suffer from a lack of words.

"But she laughed at all my corny jokes," T-Dog continued. "She was a good woman. Special. Amazing really. You know, she worked three jobs to put herself through college. Then, started her own catering business. Incredible. Anyway, one day, I finally got up the courage to ask her out. And she was like, 'Theodore, what took you so long?'" He chuckled. "We dated for a few months. I always wanted to be around her. When we were together, everything just felt right. Made sense. You know?"

Daryl really didn't know. He felt awkward and uncomfortable around people most of the time. But it sounded nice. It sounded comforting.

T-Dog's eyes grew sad as he stared off. "When they announced the refugee camps, I-" his voice faltered. "I went by to get her. But," he shook his head in defeat, "God had other plans. Sh-she had... already turned." He looked down as he pinched the bridge of his nose to keep the tears from escaping.

"M'sorry," Daryl offered sincerely.

T-Dog quietly nodded as if in agreement with his own regrets. Overwhelmed by emotion, he cleared his throat and turned to leave. But he hesitated.

"I never told her how I felt," he choked out. "When you figure it out, don't make the same mistake," he advised. "Or you'll regret it for the rest of your life." He walked away into the darkness to mourn privately, leaving Daryl to quietly ponder his words.


	16. Levity

**A/N:** Thanks for your patience, dear readers. I sat on this one way too long. I appreciate all of your encouragement. Big love to my betas meeshie and subversivegrrl for helping me to get unstuck. -jb

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16: Levity<strong>

They stayed at the ranch house for a few more days. But during her second day on bed rest, Carol grew restless. All of the others had scattered outside into the winter wonderland that graced them that morning. Snow had begun falling during the night and lay in a thick blanket across the lawn. It was an unusual sight, and they had all gone out to marvel at it.

Except for Carol.

The rare snowfall brought on an unexpected fit of melancholy. Memories of the past drifted through her mind like the snowflakes she watched gusting in the wind, pushing her into a trance, distancing her from the world around her. She was transported to a cabin in the mountains, where years prior they had spent the weekend before Christmas. Sophia had been almost six. Ed had gotten a bonus that year and had been in one of those better moods that often preceded his violent outbursts. He'd whisked them away for the weekend to a cabin he loaned from one of his hunting buddies. Sophia had gotten so excited about the snow, she had run outside in her bare feet, shrieking with joy. However brief their stay had been, it was one of the few times Carol could remember feeling almost happy as a family unit.

_Mama, look! It's like sparkles are falling from the sky!_

Sophia's laughter echoed in her mind while sorrow spilled across her cheeks. Sinking into the sofa, she felt weighed down. It took every ounce of strength she had to sit up and fight it off. Despite her efforts, the slideshow continued to cycle through fleeting images of another life. Sophia's red, runny nose shining in the morning light. Her mouth open, catching snowflakes on her tongue as she twirled around. A clumsily built snowman. White teeth smiling over a steaming cup of hot chocolate. _This is the best trip ever, Mama._

Sniffling, Carol brushed the grief from her face, getting angry with herself for indulging in nostalgia. She couldn't let herself stew in it. She had already wasted too many years of her life doing just that. There had to be something that needed to be done, something she could scrub clean. Those guilty feelings bubbling up wouldn't wash away on their own. Finally alone and with no one looking, she got up to gather whatever laundry she could find, first pulling her own dirty clothes out of her bag.

She made her way through the house, opening drawers to see if any of the prior occupants' clothing might fit. Opening a dresser drawer in the back bedroom, Carol discovered a photo album tucked away. Uncertain of what possessed her, she flipped the book open.

It was a family album. The photos looked dated, perhaps fifteen years old, Carol guessed. A happy couple with their two children, a boy and a girl looking roughly the same age. Her chest tightened, but she couldn't help herself. As she flipped the pages, she saw them with two birthday cakes and grins large enough to show their missing teeth. Twins. Happy children.

A band recital. Graduation. Lives that were lived. A parent's proudest moments.

A drop of liquid splashed onto the page and Carol realized she was crying again for all those memories she would be deprived of. The ones that were stolen from her, ripped from her chest in one horrifying moment. There should have been more happy memories. There should have been— _Enough_. Slamming the book shut, she placed it back into the drawer and closed it. With her hands tightly gripping the top of the dresser, she squeezed her eyes shut, expelling her grief in a single trembling breath._You can't let yourself feel it._ Wiping the tears from her face with the backs of her hands, she quickly continued with her search.

Pulling open another drawer, Carol found an old sewing kit with a few spools of thread buried under a sweater. Satisfied with her find, she realized there was plenty of mending to occupy her time. Maybe she could even start working on a blanket for the baby.

* * *

><p>Outside, Daryl watched as Beth and Carl lay on the ground, making snow angels and laughing. The cynical part of him frowned at them; they could be gathering the snow to use later for water. He opened his mouth to remind them, but something about the lightness he felt around him, emanating from everyone's spirit, made him reconsider saying anything. They were just kids playing and enjoying themselves, who was he to get in the way of that? Hell, they all needed to let off a little steam.<p>

He scooped up a handful of the white fluff and pressed it between his gloved hands, enjoying the sound as it crunched between them. It clumped together, and before he even realized it, he was forming a snowball.

Walking with Maggie, Glenn moved into his line of sight, his back to Daryl as he leaned over to whisper something in her ear. As Maggie was laughing at what Glenn was saying, Daryl released the snowball, and it hit Glenn right between the shoulder blades, exploding into tiny pieces. Startled, Maggie jumped away from Glenn with a gasp.

"Good one!" Glenn said sarcastically, his face reddening as he turned around to see who had assaulted him.

Crossing his arms, Daryl stood there with a smug look on his face. It was quickly wiped away when he was suddenly struck across his jaw by a snowball. It dripped icily down his neck.

Glenn laughed. "Serves you right, jackass."

Daryl scowled, turning his head in the direction it came from to see Carl with a triumphant grin on his face.

"You little shit!" Daryl called out, quickly gathering more snow in his hands. He chucked the hastily made snowball at Carl, who ducked. It hit Beth in the chest instead, with a loud thud.

Cringing, Daryl was mortified by his error until Beth shrieked with laughter.

The girl began to make her own snowball and threw it back at Daryl. However, he saw it coming and easily dodged it. But he hadn't accounted for the one that Carl had simultaneously lobbed at him, which smacked him equally hard in the chest. He stepped back from the surprise of it. _Damn, that kid is a good shot, _he thought to himself.

"That one's for Beth!" Carl proclaimed, nobly defending the girl.

Beth smiled sweetly at Carl before launching another snowball at Daryl. This time, she had anticipated his movement, and it hit him in the shoulder despite the way he drew back, trying to avoid the impact.

"Two against one, huh? You think I can't take you both on?" Daryl challenged them.

Very quickly, a snowball war escalated. And Daryl soon realized he was outnumbered as Glenn and Maggie joined in the fray. He was getting pelted more frequently than he was able to strike, so he tried to solicit allies.

"Hershel, you just gonna let your daughters get away with that?" Daryl asked after getting struck by Maggie and Beth at the same time.

"Son, I taught them how to defend themselves. They seem to be doing a fine job," Hershel explained from his seat on the front step, wisely refusing to get involved.

Daryl growled, moving on.

"Rick?"

Flashing the V-sign with his fingers, Rick chuckled. "Think of me as Switzerland."

Daryl stood there with a puzzled look on his face until he was bombarded by a few more snowballs.

Watching the assault, T-Dog took pity on the beset man and stepped up. "Alright. I got your back," he said begrudgingly as he joined him, scooping up some snow with his bare hands.

Daryl nodded at him with relief, already packing snow tightly into a hard nugget between his hands. At least someone was on his side. Suddenly realizing her absence, he looked around for Carol, wondering why she wasn't out there with the rest of them. It surprised him that with all the noise they had been making, she hadn't at least poked her head out with curiosity. It wasn't like her.

"Carol inside by herself?" he asked, turning to Lori as he made the snowball.

Lori nodded. "Last I checked. Though I'm sure she'd hate to be missing out on the day's entertainment." She grinned at him as the snowball Carl tossed hit him square in the back of the head.

Daryl winced, the muscles on his face contracting into a grimace as a chunk of ice slithered down his neck and dripped unpleasantly down his back underneath his shirt. "That your kid?"

"That's him alright," she beamed.

"'S'cuse me," he said as he spun around quickly to throw his snowball, striking Carl between the shoulder blades as the boy tried to flee. Daryl turned back around with a self-satisfied smile. "My condolences," he said, nodding to her. Then, his tone grew more serious as he returned to his prior concern. "I'm gonna head in an' check on her, make sure she don't need nothin'. You keep an eye on that boy." Without further delay, he softly bounded up the porch steps.

T-Dog saw him walking away and called out, "Hey, where you goin'?" When Daryl didn't respond, he turned to Lori. "Where's he goin'?"

Lori cleared her throat. "He's, uh, gotta go inside for a bit."

"What? I just told him I had his back. Ain't gonna fight his damn war for him." T-Dog grumbled and made for the house.

Lori stuck out her hand to stop him and lowered her voice. "Just give him a few minutes to check on Carol." Tilting her head, she raised her eyebrows expectantly, hoping he'd catch on.

T-Dog looked at her and then up towards the house where he saw Daryl, hand at his brow to shade his eyes from the glare, peering through the frosty front window. "Yeah, okay," T-Dog agreed, quickly understanding. "Man needs a few minutes." Just then, he was hit in the back by one of Maggie's snowballs. He rolled his eyes impatiently. "But he's only got a few.

* * *

><p>From the porch, Daryl watched Carol moving around inside through the front window. He was partly concerned that she was still injured and pushing herself; but more surprisingly, he found that he was equally amused by her sneakiness as he watched her limping around carrying a pile of clothes. It reeked of rebellion. He opened the door quietly and snuck inside as her back was turned.<p>

"Hey, Gimpy!" he called out to her loudly.

Startled, she dropped the armful of laundry on the floor. She turned and gave him a mocking glare. "I resemble that remark," she said, her voice stiff with forced cheerfulness.

Doubt constricted in his chest as he noticed something was off about her. Even from where he was standing, he could see her eyes were red-rimmed. Her shoulders sagged, resigned to the sadness that was clearly clinging to her—although she was doing her best not to show it. It ruffled him; he wasn't sure what to do.

"What are you doin'? Hershel know what you're up to?" His tone was accusatory, but he hadn't meant it to be. Luckily, it didn't seem to faze her.

Carol sighed before leaning over to pick up some of the clothes that had fallen. "No, and if you know what's best for you," she threatened him teasingly, "you won't be sharing our little secret either. Maggie was right, there's only so much sitting around one can tolerate."

Shifting his feet, he snorted. "It's only been a day."

She stood upright and raised an eyebrow, her eyes now sparking with fire as she pressed her lips together into a thin line of tolerant disapproval. "One day too long. And you're not one to judge. How many times did Hershel need to re-do those stitches of yours?"

Blushing, he looked aimlessly around the room, unable to tolerate the heated way she was looking at him. "Pfft. Ain't judgin'. Just…" he stalled, searching for the words as the magnetic quality of her eyes drew him back, "curious."

"Well, you know what happened to _that_ cat," she hinted pertly, putting her hand on her hip and shifting her weight to one foot. Her blue eyes were bold and determined as they narrowed at him.

He knew she didn't mean it literally. She was playing some kind of game, Daryl knew that much. Distracting him. Using her sass to hide her sorrow, making herself tougher. Carol liked to tease him, so he figured if he played along it might put her at ease. Maybe she needed the distraction as much as he did.

He grunted, sizing up her tiny frame with his eyes, then taking a step closer to meet her challenge. "You're all talk," he replied, calling her bluff.

It seemed to work. She laughed and her eyes shined with more genuine cheer as she became enchanted by his playful attitude. Feeling satisfied with himself by her response, Daryl stood taller.

"Am I?" Squaring herself off in front of him, she shortened the distance between them.

Her eyes held a surprising confidence he marveled at. The compelling sparkle in them stared him down.

Dazed by the light reflected in her eyes, he couldn't stop staring. A warm tingle vibrated down his body as he became aware of her sudden closeness. "Stop," he warned her, feeling suddenly breathless and unnerved, like he had stepped into a trap.

She giggled again, waving her hand at him as if to dispel his discomfort.

He swayed uncomfortably in his boots. "Jus' lemme help you before you murder me in my sleep," he said dryly, trying to find his footing as he looked around at the remaining clothes on the floor and bent to pick them up.

A smile spread across her lips. "Well, you can fill up that pot over there with water and help me start a fire to boil it. And when you're finished with that, you can give me your pants."

Daryl froze, feeling off-kilter again, a jumble of unfamiliar thoughts and feelings fueling his panic. _What the hell she want my pants for? _The heat already coursing through his body rushed to his face, chafing him.

He huffed out a breath. "Ain't gettin' my pants," he growled.

From the doorway, T-Dog let out a low chuckle as he was entering and shook his head. "These two," he muttered under his breath. The door slammed behind him, startling Daryl and Carol who turned towards him. "Sorry, was I interrupting something?"

Daryl stood there awkwardly for a beat before he continued picking up the clothing, grateful to avoid the eye contact with both of them.

Carol saw the disconcerted look on Daryl's face as he busied himself and her own cheeks glowed pink when she realized what she had said. "No, uh, oh god, I mean, I, I found a needle and some thread. I can mend that hole. These look about your size." Quickly, she tossed a pair of clean pants at him. "Why don't you go try them on?"

"Yeah," said T-Dog, wearing a glib smile, "and hurry up. You started a war out there. I ain't fightin' it alone."

"War?" Carol raised her eyebrow, trying to get past her embarrassment, hoping a change in subject would help.

Clutching the pants, Daryl shrugged and avoided her eyes. "Jus' playin'."

Carol was surprised and curious. "Since when do you play?"

"Since when do you give a shit what I wear?" Exasperated, he tossed the pair of pants on the sofa with the other clothes.

Biting her lip, Carol nodded, realizing too late that she'd pushed him too far with her teasing. "Touché," she surrendered, limping past him towards the large pot as the guilt once again swelled inside her.

He saw the sadness return to her eyes. _Don't gotta be an asshole about it, _Daryl reminded himself. With his own guilt clenching in his belly, Daryl swiftly stepped past her and picked up the pot, holding it out of her reach. "Would you just...sit down. You don't have to do this."

Frustrated at herself, Carol frowned. "I need to do something."

Daryl felt himself caving in to the look of pleading desperation in her eyes. When the woman had her mind set, there was no convincing her.

"Why don't you come outside and join us," T-Dog suggested.

Suddenly relieved the man was there, Daryl nodded, only now remembering the reason he came inside. Something on Carol's face told him she shouldn't be left alone. His frustration melted as his concern for her grew. Relaxing his shoulders, he became more apologetic and encouraging. "Yeah. You can throw all the snowballs you want at my sorry ass."

Carol released a reluctant sigh before conceding. "How can I resist such an offer?" A sly grin leaked onto her lips.

"You can't," Daryl said with a scowl, concealing his delight. "C'mon."

With T-Dog's help, they carried her outside on a kitchen chair. The others cheered when they saw her arriving, and Carol felt embraced by their joy. Kneeling close, Beth gathered a small pile of snow at her feet and quickly helped her make a few snowballs. The battle resumed as if there had been no interruption.

"Traitor!" Maggie shouted, tossing a snowball at Beth, striking her in the arm.

"Who said she was helping the enemy?" Carol called out, throwing her snowball at Daryl, hitting him squarely on the ass.

Straightening his back, Daryl turned towards her, his cheeks a bright crimson from more than just the cold air. "Enjoyin' yourself?"

Gratified by her solid hit, Carol nodded her head with conviction. "Absolutely!"

"Y'know, you don't gotta take what I said so literally."

"Where's the fun in that?" Her smile radiated to her eyes, completely clearing whatever sadness he had seen lingering there earlier.

Daryl felt something hard and heavy inside him break off and float to the surface. Even under the barrage of snowballs pounding him, he only felt the warm, uplifting grace of her smile pushing up his own cheeks.

The sounds of gleeful laughter erupted across the front lawn as the snowball fight intensified. Abandoning her guilt, Carol noticed how Daryl seemed to allow himself to be in the one-down position, taking the pummeling with an attitude of tolerant benevolence. She reveled in this sudden change in him, feeling her heart grow lighter as she watched him openly enjoying himself. When Carl got too cocky, Daryl chased him, tackling him to the ground before playfully shoving snow in the boy's face until he cried uncle.

"You wanna call a truce?" Daryl asked, immediately easing up.

"Yeah," Carl sighed almost breathlessly, his cheeks rosy from the sting of the snow.

"Alright. Let's say we join forces and go after your ol' man, huh? Thinks he can stay neutral. Ha!"

A wicked grin of delight appeared on the boy's face. He nodded his consent and grasped the hand Daryl offered him to pull himself up.

Daryl kept a firm grip on his hand. "Gotta shake on a deal like that, so I know you're good for it." He gave Carl a serious look.

"Okay," Carl agreed, laughing, and shook his hand. "But wait," he added in a more serious tone as Daryl pulled his hand away. "Just not my mom, okay?"

Glancing over at the pregnant woman sitting next to Hershel, Daryl realized the boy was being protective. He stuck out his hand again for Carl to take, looking the boy squarely in the eyes as they shook hands again. "Deal."

Looking up, Daryl's eyes naturally sought Carol, who was watching him from where she sat in the midst of the resounding merriment of the others still engaged in the throes of battle. It was satisfying to see her there, in her rightful place—the heart of it all. Her brilliant smile was the only approval he needed. Inhaling the crisp winter air, he felt lighter than ever, almost weightless. As he freely smiled back, Daryl realized that this was what happiness felt like, growing more certain it had everything to do with the people around him.


End file.
